Tomorrow's Gallows
by Target22
Summary: A humble clerk has denounced the clergy of the Goddesses and declared war on the corrupt justice system of Hyrule Kingdom. Quentin is willing to fight for the accused, guilty or otherwise, in an attempt to balance the scales. But how is he supposed to win a case when his client has yet to even commit the crime? It's the people of Hyrule vs Ganondorf, for the crime of regicide.
1. Chapter 1

The executioner pulled the lever, the floor gave way, and the convicted man plummeted, his fall broken only by the thick rope around his neck. His spine broke, his body spasmed, and only one man in the crowd felt remorse.

Quentin Massys watched his client's body sway in a breeze that no one else could feel.

"Dammit," he said under his breath. All the bridges he'd burned, all the sleepless nights, all the humiliation he'd suffered, was for nothing.

"Dammit," he said again for what must have been the twentieth time. He had been so close to saving Damon. Not restoring the man's freedom, the clergy's evidence had been irrefutable, but he could have saved the man's life. Or so he'd thought.

"Bah!" He turned around and shouldered his way through the crowd, using his cane to rake the shins of anyone not moving quick enough. "The show's over," he grumbled as he went. He caught some dirty looks from the serfs but none stayed in his way or threatened retaliation for their bruised shins.

"Barbarians," he said a little bit louder as soon as he'd escaped the crowd of onlookers. "We made it to the 14th century and you're still excited by executions and gallows." He cast a look over his shoulder and saw that his client's body was no longer spasming or swaying. It was only hanging now. Quentin knew the executioner would leave him up there for another hour before cutting the rope. It was important the peasants knew what awaited them, should they dare to aspire beyond their station.

A grin tugged at the edge of Quentin's lips as he imagined the crowd of onlookers garbed in long black feathers, squawking like crows in a murder. He shook his head and cleared the image from his mind. There was no reason to build resentment towards these people, he thought. They were, after all, the ones he most often chose to fight for. The ones who hired him.

Quentin limped along the edge of Castle Town's moat ready for the day to be over. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn't over. Because he had been audacious enough to represent Damon in front of the Royal Court, the affairs and belongings of the deceased were now Quentin's responsibility, starting with the corpse.

"Is that you, Massys?" asked a voice. Quentin flinched then looked around to identify the one who addressed him.

"It is," he answered pausing in the middle of the drawbridge. "To whom am I speaking?"

A royal guard stepped around the portcullis. He wore a well kept uniform and breastplate, was of average build, and carried himself like a soldier. The only feature that didn't scream professional, was the man's ear-to-ear grin.

"How'd you know it was me, James?" Quentin asked his friend.

James tapped the heel of his right boot against the iron and wood drawbridge.

"I can hear the thump of your cane while you walk," he said, smile ever plastered to his face.

Quentin snorted and resumed his path across the bridge. "Be thankful it was enough to wake you up. Constable Wage should be right behind me."

James gave his friend a wink. "Always looking out for the little guy."

"Hmm," was all Quentin offered in response.

He hobbled under the portcullis and onto the brick roads of Castle Town. The well made streets of the city were much easier for the cripple to navigate through than the dirt paths outside the city walls.

Quentin walked for about thirty minutes before he had to take a seat on a bench and massage his leg. He promised himself he wouldn't complain about the walk to and from the execution when he'd set out that morning. Nobody was going to make a liar of him today. He did, however, give the blue sky a rueful stare. A storm was coming. His knee, and what was left of his thigh, only ached this bad before a storm. Strangely enough there wasn't more than one white puffy nimbus to blame for his suffering.

No matter, he thought to himself. Once he took care of Damon's affairs he could take the next few days off.

After only one more break he made it to Castle Town's Keep.

Castle Town had a glorious history of being peaceful. Filled to the brim with beautiful, law abiding citizens. Quentin knew for certain that the official history of Castle Town could not be more wrong. Why else would an unblemished haven need such a large, imposing, keep or dungeon if there were no criminals? Quentin had often mused to himself. And Castle Town's Keep was indeed imposing.

Gargoyles were perched atop marble pillars along a sloped Gothic roof. Their fearsome expressions dared anyone to peek into the one window that offered view of the building's insides. Their eyes mocked the poor souls that were dragged in by the Constable and his men.

Yes, Quentin supposed to himself, the architect of this place did a fine job of demonizing the corrupt justice system. It was no wonder they built this place far from the main road. The man with the cane gave the twin gargoyles an undaunted glare, then pushed the heavy oaken door open with his free hand.

"Where's Spade at?" Quentin asked the guard.

The guard yawned lazily, adjusted himself, then decided he was ready to answer. "Well good afternoon to you too."

Quentin furrowed his brow. He was in no mood for games or pleasantries. He bore into the impetuous guard with his eyes and tapped his cane against the stone floor impatiently.

"Where is my assistant?" he asked slowly.

The guard gave Quentin a look over, then begrudgingly fixed his posture and stood upright.

"He's cleaning your friend's cell," the guard answered with mischievous smile.

Quentin ignored the accusation of Damon being his friend, as opposed to his client, and shouldered passed the guard coldly. He could swear he heard a snicker from behind him while he clicked and clacked down the stone and marble hall. The sound of his cane echoed along the walls ahead of him. His assistant's head peeked out from around the corner, no doubt alerted by his master's clicking.

"I was just about to come find you," the boy squeaked. Puberty was just beginning to sink its claws into Quentin's young assistant, and the boy's cracked voice and pimpled face showed it.

"I'm all done with Master Damon's cell."

"He's dead, Spade. It's just Damon now."

Spade looked down at the floor. "Oh," he said quietly. "Does that mean I have to go bury him?"

Quentin reached into his pockets. "Aye, you have to go bury him." He pulled his hand out with a blue rupee clutched between his fingers. "But I'd say some extra appreciation is in order."

Spade's big brown eyes got even bigger when he saw the rupee. Excitedly he reached outward for his reward, only to have Quentin snatch it back.

"Ah, ah, ah," Quentin said with wave of his cane. "This is not to be spent until AFTER you've taken care of Damon."

Spade bobbed his head up and down, swearing and promising he wouldn't even lift the piece from his purse until his chore was done. Quentin doubted his excitable assistant but handed the rupee over anyway. The moment his little paws touched the gem he shoved his hand into the inside pocket of his breeches and took off running down the hall. Quentin chuckled to himself and hobbled after him.

With that taken care of, the only thing left for Quentin to do was file the paperwork concerning Damon's few possessions. Luckily, when he'd seen the case going sour, he'd staged all the paperwork at his home. With a curt grunt towards the guard, Quentin left the Keep and headed for his humble residence.

The commute from the Keep to his house was the absolute worst part about Quentin's job. The man had chosen to live on one side of the main road and market square, and work on the opposite. He could already feel his right knee swelling as he counted the steps home.

Commotion on the main road pulled his attention away from his bum leg. An entourage of palace guards were chasing people away as they moved down the main road and through the market square. Curious to a fault, Quentin hobbled parallel to the road in an attempt to get a better view of the guards.

The guards, Quentin realized, were not just any palace guards. They were the King's illustrious bodyguards, Elites. Veteran warriors who would slay dozens of their liege's enemies before selflessly offering up their own lives. Quentin wondered why such prestigious men were causing a scene amongst the rabble. Surely the King or his Princess weren't out without their litter.

Quentin scanned the group, searching for the Princess's personal attendant, Impa. Instead of the Sheikah he found the cause for all the commotion. The Elites had a man, massive in stature, chained and cuffed, with a black bag hiding his face, in tow behind them.

"Clear the path!" bellowed the Elite at the head of the group.

"Where are they going?" Quentin asked one of the citizens that had been herded over towards him.

"To the gallows," the man said excitedly. "They're saying he tried to kill the Princess!"

Quentin turned back the to hooded man in disbelief. Who would even dare to harm the Princess? If the Elites weren't intimidating enough, the Princess's attendant could halt a raging river with an icy stare.

"Nobody's that stupid," Quentin said with a shake of his head.

The man shrugged. "I guess that fellow is."

Quentin thought for a moment. No, he decided, something strange was going on. Forgetting his leg for a moment Quentin maneuvered around the gapers and onlookers and pressed towards the Elites. One of the men doing crowd control stopped him with a stiff arm planted on his chest.

"Stand back!" the soldier ordered.

"What is that man's crime?" Quentin demanded.

"That's none of your business," the soldier sneered.

He tried to shove the cripple backwards but Quentin was having none of it. Just as the soldier pushed him he pivoted on his good leg. Suddenly meeting no resistance the soldier stumbled forward. Quentin stuck his cane out, tripping the man's legs and sending him forward on his face.

"What is this man's crime?" Quentin asked stepping passed the crowd and downed soldier so the Elites could see him.

The leader of the group, a dangerous man who Quentin knew as Lord Heydron, narrowed his eyes at the nosy cripple and stepped forward to correct him. A younger Elite from the side stopped him.

"Massys," the Elite said. Quentin recognized his friend Micah. "Do yourself a favor and stay out of this one," Micah advised.

Quentin held his free hand up innocently.

"I'm only here to help."

"How's that?" Lord Heydron asked.

Quentin leaned heavily on his cane and did his best to appear nonchalant.

"It would seem your men have gotten mixed up," he answered. "The dungeons are a part of the Keep. And the Keep is that way." He indicated the road he'd just come from with a tilt of his head.

"This traitor isn't going to the dungeons."

"No?" Quentin asked feigning surprise. "Did I miss his trial? Was he found guilty in accordance with King Hadrian's laws?" Quentin spoke loud so that all of the sheeple could hear him. If nothing else, he needed a witness for when Lord Heydron broke his jaw.

Lord Heydron took two steps so that he was standing directly in front of, and subsequently over, Quentin. His hazel eyes glared passed his broken nose, promising Quentin every sort of pain for interfering. Quentin didn't back down.

"No man may be executed for any crime without a trial." Quentin suspected he was pushing his limits. "Not even for regicide."

He knew the fist was coming, but he didn't see it. Unconsciousness cradled him to the ground like a caring mother. Returning to consciousness was far less pleasant.

"Don't try and sit up," warned a familiar voice.

"Micah?" Quentin asked. Pain, manifesting as blinding lights and stars, bounced through Quentin's racked brain. He hoped keeping his eyes shut would offer some sort of relief.

"You just had to stick your nose where it doesn't belong! It's like you enjoy pissing off as many powerful people as possible!" His friend was obviously irate.

Quentin groaned and tried to pry one of his eyelids open. The torchlight in the room triggered another wave of pain. He recognized he was in his own home.

"What happened after I was knocked out?"

Micah sighed. "The people went into a frenzy after Heydron knocked you out. They started screaming about King Hadrian's laws and King Harkinian and all that nonsense." He paused for a minute and shook his head. "Your new client is in the Keep."

Quentin hissed ruefully between clenched teeth. He truly hadn't meant to pick up another client. Especially not after how poorly Damon's case ended.

"Who is he?" Quentin asked.

"Ha!"

Quentin winced at the sudden noise. "Goddesses Micah!"

"You didn't recognize him?" Micah asked incredulously.

Quentin tried to shake his head.

Micah sighed again and dropped his head into his hands. "Figures." Slowly he looked up from his hands. "That was the General."

Quentin did sit up now, the pain was nothing compared to what he'd just heard.

"Surely you're kidding!"

With a mixed expression on his face, Micah shook his head. "I'm not. Your new client is General Ganondorf."

* * *

 **Author's Note: This is going to be a short story, only a few chapters long. Let's see how this goes.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Quentin berated himself. "What have I done? If only I'd stopped to think before opening my damned mouth!"

It was fortunate most everyone had found shelter indoors, leaving Quentin alone on the empty streets. Otherwise people would surely think Quentin was mad.

"I must, in fact, be mad," he grumbled aloud.

Every part of the man's day had turned to bile. It started off poorly and only seemed to be getting worse. First, there was Damon's execution. Then the scene he'd caused in front of the palace guards which was to thank for his excruciating headache. And now that single cloud he'd spotted earlier had invited all of its friends to bless the realm with torrential downpour.

Quentin hobbled around a puddle, wondering why he was concerned about getting his boots wet when the rest of him was being soaked. The man hugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders with his free hand, and tightened his grip on his cane's handle with the other.

"The Goddesses are finally punishing me," he said to himself. "Years without any signs or miracles and they decide to rally for little old me."

He of course didn't mean it, or suspect the Goddesses were picking on him. Quentin Massys did not think so highly of himself that a trio of deities, real or otherwise, would ever concern themselves with someone as insignificant as he.

While the man limped through the downpour he counted his steps. The pain in his leg was flaring up something fierce, causing him to almost lose his footing twice now. He knew he shouldn't be out in this weather. This was how people died of pneumonia. He should be in his home, leaned back in his chair next to the fireplace. He should be flipping through the parchments and reports that he paid so much money for every month. He should NOT be trekking across town at such an unreasonable hour through such unreasonable weather for such an unreasonable purpose.

"What could you possibly need to say to him tonight that can't wait until tomorrow?" Micah had asked when Quentin began rummaging about for his cloak.

"You know as well as I do," he replied, "the court is going to try and rush his procession. I'd be a fool to think I'll get more than tonight to speak to the General."

Micah had shaken his head. "You just took a blow from Heydron that would have stopped a horse."

"Good thing I'm not a horse."

"Quentin," Micah said in his serious voice. "You are in no condition to deal with this tonight. Ganondorf isn't going anywhere and the royal court never wakes up until well after dawn." He had his foot up on an oak chest atop the cloak Quentin had been looking for, and was now wearing. When Quentin saw it he gave it a tug. Micah didn't budge.

"Get your foot off," Quentin ordered.

"I know your leg is bothering you, I can see you limping worse than usual. Your knuckles are turning white, you're leaning on your cane so much."

"Get, off," Quentin commanded in a threatening voice.

Micah searched his eyes then, after a sigh of defeat, obliged his stubborn friend.

"Fine, if you want to risk passing out in the streets or getting robbed in the night, that's your problem." He turned to leave. "I've fulfilled my duties as a friend. Goodnight."

"Dammit," Quentin swore. He had made it all the way to the Keep without realizing that he'd never thanked Micah for carrying him to his home, not to mention sitting by him for hours until he'd awoken.

No matter, he thought. There would be time enough for apologies and appreciation tomorrow. Right now he needed to prepare himself for this meeting.

Lifting his head into the oncoming rain, Quentin did his best to return the gargoyles' glares as he took his last steps into the Keep. He payed the startled guard no mind as he turned to close the heavy doors behind him.

"Lord Massys," the surprised guard said. "I wasn't expecting anyone tonight."

With a raised eyebrow Quentin examined the guard. It was one of the younger guards in the military. Quentin didn't remember his name but he recognized the face from one of his visits during Damon's trial.

"Massys, is fine," Quentin said. "I've no land and no money. No need for the, 'lord' bit."

"Sorry m'lo... Massys," he stammered.

Quentin shrugged his wet cloak off and set it below one of the torches by the entrance.

"Why do you look so damn nervous?" he asked the guard.

The boy looked a little embarrassed but his eyes got more excited.

"They brought the General here!" he said in an excited whisper. "When I took over the post I could hear him hollering and swearing and its just..."

Quentin raised his hand up in understanding. "I get it, he's an intimidating man. I'm actually here to speak with him. Which cell is he in?"

The young guard looked completely surprised, despite the fact he knew Quentin's office and was familiar with the man's "collateral duties".

"You here to speak in an official capacity?"

Quentin nodded. The young guard leaned in even more.

"He's here because he tried to kill the King and Princess, you know."

"Allegedly," Quentin corrected. "Now, what cell is he in?"

"He's in the Witch Pen." The guard was now looking at Quentin suspiciously but wasn't making a move to stop him or question him further.

Quentin mumbled a quick thanks and moved around the guard. He was familiar with the look he'd received. He had been representing criminals for two years now and he still caught confused, suspicious, and dirty looks.

It was hard for people to understand that Quentin held no love for crime, and didn't want to see criminals go free. He just wanted justice to be administered fairly. In an age when lords could accuse then castigate any commoner of any crime, and the peasant's only evidence of innocence was his testimony, the words justice and fairness were used loosely. Quentin sought to put an end to that.

The Witch Pen, was the unofficial name for the largest, most secure, basement cell. Supposedly, during the creation of the Keep, a priest of the Goddesses had inscribed runes, that negated every and any magic, on the inside of this cell. Every magic user, or suspected magic user, was confined to that cell. The guards had taken to calling it the Witch Pen during Hyrule's expulsion of black magic.

A dozen alleged warlocks and witches had been imprisoned here. The priests thank the runes for the fact that nobody was turned into a rodent or cursed during the witches' incarceration. Quentin suspected nobody was cursed because none arrested had been actual magic users. That hadn't stopped the King from authorizing their execution. This had all taken place a decade before Quentin had come into his office.

The story still enraged him though. He had seen a sorcerer in action and he knew it would be hard enough to arrest one of them, let alone twelve. That being said, Quentin was curious how Ganondorf had been subdued. He was curious about a lot of things concerning the man.

Quentin stopped at the top of the stairs and let out a groan. He'd forgotten how many steps there were.

"I bet he's not even going to appreciate all the trouble I've gone through tonight," Quentin said to no one in particular. None the less the man let out a sigh and began his slow descent into the basement.

Thanks to his bum leg the climb down the stairs had to be carried out slowly. There was no railing for the likes of Quentin or the crippled folk. So the man had to hug the wall, keeping his left shoulder and the flat of his palm firmly pressed against its cold surface. He then steadied his cane on the step below him before lowering his bad leg. In as fast a movement as he could muster, while balancing the vast majority of his weight atop his cane, he would hop to get his good leg under him before the searing pain could make it halfway up his hip.

There were forty steps to conquer in this fashion. Each one more insulting than the previous.

"What in the hell is that damn noise?" a booming voice demanded.

It startled Quentin so bad he missed the last step. He gasped as all his weight came down on his bad leg. Beads of sweat drenched the few places the rain had left dry. Berating himself for his clumsiness he used his cane to hoist himself up to his feet. He took a moment to collect himself, and another moment to allow the pain in his leg to subside, then ambled down the hallway.

He saw the General as soon as the bars of the Witch Pen were visible. He was standing very much how Quentin expected to find him; in the middle of his cell, feet shoulder width apart, arms folded in front of his chest, brow furrowed, lips parted in a snarl. The General's posture had never been perfect, his large muscular shoulder and back made his neck and head protrude forward in a sort of hunch. Now, however, standing defiantly in his cell, Ganondorf's head was reared back making the giant of a man look even larger.

"Is my death not enough, that they would send a cripple to antagonize me?" Ganondorf said mockingly.

Quentin offered the remark no notice. Calmly he continued forward until he was only a few paces away from the bars. Far enough to avoid spit, he hoped. He looked about and with no small amount of joy discovered a small wooden stool resting beside the far wall. It was not ideal for what was likely going to be a long visit but it beat sitting on the floor.

Ganondorf remained quiet while Quentin dawdled, following his visitor with suspicious, angry eyes. When the stool was placed directly in front of the cell, far enough to avoid any saliva projectiles, Quentin lowered himself with quiet grunt of exertion. He crossed his feet at the ankles then leaned forward onto his cane.

"Good evening, General Ganondorf," he said in a practiced, professional voice. He held the General's gaze while he spoke, but made sure his stare did not come off as challenging. "My name is Quentin Massys and I am here to help you." A single red eyebrow was raised.

"And how do you intend to help me, Quentin, Massys?" he asked dubiously. "Unless you intend to help me escape, I have no use for you."

Quentin shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, I could not," he replied. "This particular cell requires three keys, simultaneously used, to open it. Lord Heydron has one, Constable Wage another, and the timid guard above us, the third."

Ganondorf's nostrils flared. "Then what help are you?" he demanded.

"I will be representing you in court tomorrow," Quentin answered. "I am here so we can prepare your defense before morning."

Ganondorf squinted at the seated cripple, his head moving slightly forward. "I know you," he said in realization.

"You do?" Quentin asked, careful to hide his delight. _I didn't think he would remember me_ , he thought to himself. _There were more than a dozen others that day. Surely he_ -

"You're that fool that started the riot this afternoon," Ganondorf said. "You'd think you fondled Heydron's stones the way he grumbled about you." The Gerudo man's snarling lips were replaced by a meager grin.

"You are welcome for that," Quentin said quickly. _Of course he doesn't remember you_ , he thought to himself.

"Ha! I should be grateful to you, should I?" Ganondorf asked derisively. "Instead of a quick execution I must now suffer the humiliation of our royal bobolyne and his court of bastards."

Quentin had expected as much contempt from such a prideful man. "You would not be my first client to escape murder charges."

"Oh?" Ganondorf asked with a slight tilt of his head. "I heard the guards mention you and your most recent case."

Quentin clenched his jaw.

"From what I heard," Ganondorf continued. "That man's crime was counterfeit. How well did you help him?"

Quentin swallowed and waited a half second before responding. It was poor form to let his emotions effect his relation with a client.

"He was undoubtedly guilty of his crime. The clergy had irrefutable evidence," Quentin responded. "Are you guilty, General? Did you make an attempt on the King or Princess's life?"

Ganondorf lunged forward, grabbing the bars of his cell in his massive hands. He brought his face as far forward as his cage would allow.

"I will not play your games! Quentin, Massys," he spat Quentin's name as if it were an insult. "The King has convicted me without evidence or cause. I have already been humiliated and stripped of rank, sentenced to die. It does not matter at this point if I am guilty or not."

Quentin cleared his throat. "Not even King Harkinian is above the law. If he were, you would already be hanging from the gallows." The image of Damon, swaying beneath the platform, flit across Quentin's mind.

"So I will ask again, General. Are you guilty of attempted regicide and, or, murder?"

Ganondorf stared at Quentin hard, as if trying to discern whether this was a charade or if Quentin was a cripple AND a fool. After a moment Ganondorf released his grip on the metal bars and took a single step back, farther into his cell.

"If I wanted the King or his pissant brat dead, I would not be here for 'attempted' murder." He said it confidently and coldly.

Quentin, his biased opinion aside, suspected this to be the truth.

"While I believe that's true, we can't use that at your pretrial arraignment." It was meant as a joke but neither party found it especially humorous. Quentin cleared his throat and continued. "The obvious first question we must ask is: Why is the King convinced you attempted to kill him?"

"You're not joking?" Ganondorf asked, no underlying tone of mocking or contempt. "You intend to represent me in front of the Royal Court? The King himself will likely be there damming any and all who support me."

Quentin sat up straight, his hands still resting on the head of his cane. "As you can see I am no good at jokes. I do intend to represent you, regardless of the King's or the Goddesses' damming."

Ganondorf blinked and shook his head, bewildered. "Why?" he asked. "Why would you risk your reputation for me?"

"I risk my reputation in hope that justice and honesty will prevail. Even in the shadow of charlatan priests and entitled monarchy." It wasn't the whole truth but it was the same bit Quentin gave all his clients when asked why he offered his help.

"Ugh. If I had eaten this evening I would surely vomit."

Quentin only shrugged. He was less and less embarrassed each time now. This was his nineteenth client, and the eighteenth time he'd given that speech.

"I ask again, why is the King convinced you attempted to kill him?" Quentin asked.

Ganondorf searched Quentin's eyes for a moment, then visibly relaxed. Suddenly he looked less imposing or daunting and more tired.

"Truthfully, I don't know," he said after a sigh. "One moment I was in my chambers with a servant girl, the next that Sheikah and the self-declared Elites burst in arrested me."

"Did you resist?"

"I didn't kill any of them."

Quentin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "That is not the same as not resisting."

"I didn't know why I was being seized. At the time I assumed it was a simple misunderstanding, one that would be clarified the moment I spoke to the King."

"And did you get to speak to the King?"

"I did not. After I was in shackles and a blade was pressed to my throat that Sheikah bitch informed me that on the order of His Majesty, I was stripped of all titles, rank, property, and sentenced to be executed this evening."

"Why did you not escape?"

Ganondorf gave Quentin a questioning look. "I was already in chains. Sure I could beat Impa one on one, but not her AND a room full of Elites with my hands chained behind my back."

"Surely you could have cast a spell and escaped."

Ganondorf's furrowed his brow. "What did you say?"

"You're a sorcerer." It was a statement, not a question.

"How do you know that?" Ganondorf asked, obviously surprised.

"Lord Heydron bothered to put you in the Witch Pen," Quentin answered. "I can only assume he knows you are a magic user."

Ganondorf didn't buy it. "Maybe he wanted to ensure a magic using accomplice would not help me escape."

Quentin shrugged. "Then I would have been wrong for assuming." He wondered why he wasn't just coming out and telling the General the truth.

"Hmmmm." Ganondorf was still suspicious but he didn't press any further. "I tried but I could not conjure even the most simple of spells."

"Interesting. Why not?"

It was Ganondorf's turn to shrug. "I don't know. And I can't further investigate so long as I am in this damned cell."

Quentin nodded as though he understood Ganondorf's problem but truthfully he was ignorant when it came to the workings of magic or spell-weaving. Like most Hyrulians he did not have an iota of magic ability in him. Books and tomes on the subject of magic were well guarded, each mage hording those he found so that he, and only he, may make use of their contents.

"Since we don't know what has come over the King, or why he thinks you've planned an attempt on his life, we will have to find out tomorrow at the arraignment."

Quentin lurched forward so he could rise to his feet without putting any weight on his bad leg.

"We cannot prepare a proper defense until we know exactly why you were sentenced to death," Quentin said. He picked up the stool in his left hand and returned it from whence it came. "We'll go over the details of what you are to say and when to say it just before the hearing. If they decide to skip the trial, I expect you to defer to me."

"You weren't born like that, were you?" Ganondorf asked, pointing at Quentin's leg.

Quentin shifted uncomfortably. "No," he answered quietly. "No I was not."

Ganondorf's eyes glistened with recognition. "You were a soldier!" he practically shouted, delighted as though he had solved some sort of riddle. "You fought in the Gerudo War!"

The pain in Quentin's leg had somehow tripled as Ganondorf spoke. Quentin clenched his jaw and nodded.

"What battle was it, that took your leg?" Ganondorf asked. His tone had changed entirely. It almost sounded as though he were asking respectfully.

"Not a glorious battle," Quentin said through mostly closed teeth. The pain was getting worse. He might not make it all the way home. "It was an ambush on a caravan I was escorting."

Ganondorf nodded his head knowingly. More than a few caravans and supply routes were raided during the war. Somehow the Gerudo had found a way to get groups of twenty or more behind Hyrulian lines.

"Their ambushes were merciless," he said. "I'm amazed you lived through one."

"I wouldn't have," Quentin said. He was massaging his knee while preparing to turn and leave. He needed to get home and get his emergency medicine. "Fourteen of us survived though."

"How?"

Quentin turned his back to Ganondorf and began heading down the hall for the evil steps.

"Hey!" Ganondorf called. "How did you survive? Did you flee?" he asked angrily. It was obvious he did not like being dismissed so casually.

Quentin stopped and peered over his shoulder. "No," he answered. "You showed up, General."


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone in attendance was sure to make themselves appear as busy as possible. Whether it was pretending to read papers, forcing a conversation, or even picking at a spot on one's hand, everyone made sure to avoid eye contact with Quentin. Everyone except the Archbishop.

From the moment Quentin walked in, the Archbishop tracked him with his shark eyes. Quentin always referred to them as that, the Archbishop's eyes. The man's irises were such a dark color that unless you were standing immediately in front of him you couldn't tell the difference between iris and pupil. His black eyebrows sat too far over his eye sockets so that even when he frowned his eyes looked much too big. Much too big, too dark, and too vicious.

Quentin met the man's gaze when he first walked in, but couldn't be bothered with trying to hold the never ending stare. The blood-thirsty Archbishop had nothing better to do. In another life, Quentin mused, he and the Archbishop might have been friends. They'd both been soldiers in the Gerudo War. They were both men of uncompromising integrity. They both thoroughly enjoyed literature. What kept them from being friends in this world was the Archbishop's zealotry, or maybe it was Quentin's sacrilege. Either way, it was the fault of the Goddesses that the two didn't get along.

It was a shame though. Quentin had the utmost respect for the man and his accomplishments. The two men were about the same age, yet Archbishop Simon Islip had achieved much more in his thirty-some-odd years.

Simon was a simple deacon of the Goddesses when the Gerudo War broke out. After a third of the Hyrulian Army had been defeated, and before Ganondorf had arrived to take over as general, the Church of the Goddesses began demanding that citizens of Hyrule prove their faith and loyalty and enlist in the military. Of course this was a call to the average and poor citizen. The aristocrats and wealthy of Hyrule needn't display their faith in such a frivolous and dangerous manner. Despite all of their rousing sermons and passionate speeches, not a single priest or bishop volunteered to fight, even as they convinced mere boys to risk their lives.

Simon Islip saw what the church was doing and was outraged. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough pull to rectify the situation so he chose to serve as an example. He believed the cause was just, and he didn't want the actions of a few cowards to dishonor his precious Goddesses, so he enlisted and volunteered for the front lines.

Quentin never had the honor of fighting alongside Simon, but he did hear of the man's many feats. His bravery on and off the battlefield reached the ears of many, including those of the former Archbishop. That Archbishop was immensely impressed by what he heard. When the war ended, Simon was anointed Bishop, and immediately groomed to takeover as Archbishop. Simon led the Church as audaciously and fervently as he'd led men in battle.

Quentin fidgeted in his seat, tapped his knee to gauge the pain, then glanced up to see if the Archbishop was still staring at him. He was. Quentin held the man's gaze long enough to show he wasn't intimidated, then resumed examining the rest of the court. He was genuinely surprised that the Archbishop would not be overseeing the case as Officiator. The man had overseen Damon's case, and more than half of Quentin's other cases. But since Archbishop Islip wasn't overseeing this one, it came as no surprise that Vice Regent Leopold would act as Officiator.

This was a man Quentin admired, but had never been able to read. From experience, Quentin had seen that the Vice Regent was wise and patient. He didn't rush any procession, overlook any evidence, or forgo any testimony. He could, however, be heavy-handed in his punishment. In any other case that would concern Quentin. For this case, Ganondorf's case, he couldn't ask for a better judge. At the very least he would be able to fully explore every option for proving Ganondorf's innocence. With a case like this, dealing with attempted regicide, the verdict would either be guilty or not guilty. Execution or life. His only goal, his only aspiration right now, was to avoid the gallows. He owed the General that much, at least.

Quentin leaned forward out of his seat so he could peer out the far window of the courtroom. It was now well past dawn. Quentin had taken no risks and arrived even before the sun had risen. Archbishop Islip had still beat him here, but nobody else. Various other lords, ladies, guards, and people of importance had wandered in at more reasonable times as the sun rose, but the Vice Regent had yet to arrive.

Quentin glanced at the empty chair next to him. Ganondorf should have been sitting there, and would be eventually.

"Due to the nature of the accused's prowess in combat and spell-weaving," Archbishop Islip had said. "He has been deemed too dangerous to appear before the court at any time unless absolutely necessary."

Quentin balked. "That's absurd!" he'd started. "Every man has the right to know what he is being accused of and to be present during -"

"At any time during the case," Archbishop Islip had interrupted with a wave of his hand. "You will be excused to go meet with him in the dungeon and relay everything that has transpired."

Quentin had put his hands on his hips and shook his head grumbling about proper procession but Archbishop Islip ignored him and continued.

"Vice Regent Leopold has assured me that you will be able to break away and confer with the accused as often as you need." The Archbishop only blinked his shark eyes twice during the conversation.

Quentin glared into the dark orbs that had been staring at him since he'd walked in.

"The Keep is a fifty minute walk from here!" Quentin fumed. "At least allow my client to be kept in the castle dungeon."

Archbishop Islip shook his head. "No, Lord Massys. The accused will remain in the cell that has been blessed for our protection. Besides, it is a thirty minute walk to the Keep, at most."

Someone else would have smiled after so blatantly mocking Quentin's condition. Archbishop Islip's face didn't even twitch. Quentin growled and turned his back, retiring to the seat he was now planted in. He would receive no sympathy or mercy here. Not from these people. He made a mental note to find Spade and ensure the lad would be free to run messages throughout the trial.

The door at the far end of the court room opened and all heads turned to see who the most recent arrival was. Vice Regent Leopold had finally arrived.

"All rise!" Archbishop Islip commanded.

Instantly everyone, including the cripple Massys, rose from their seats as the aged Vice Regent slowly cantered through the room.

"Good morning, Archbishop," the Vice Regent said in a familiar manner.

Archbishop Islip bowed deeply placing his right hand over his heart. "Good morning, Vice Regent."

The Vice Regent offered a few nods to some of the other dignitaries in the room, offered the scribe who would be recording everything a good morning, then climbed the few steps to the seat at the head of the chamber. There was a balcony just over him that was empty, but every other seat in the room sat below his. The balcony was reserved for the King and his attendants. Vice Regent Leopold had never been so haughty as to invite himself up to that balcony, even in the King's absence.

Vice Regent Leopold took his seat and began shuffling through the different papers strewn across the table in front of him. After he was seated, Archbishop Islip and everyone else took their seats. Quentin stayed where he was.

The Vice Regent looked up from his papers and gave Quentin a curious look.

"There's no need to put stress on your leg, Lord Massys," he said formally. "You may take a seat."

Quentin bowed as deeply as he could without tipping over. "Thank you for your concern, Vice Regent, but I would rather stand."

The Vice Regent lowered the spectacles that sat on his nose. "I insist you take a seat, Lord Massys."

Quentin bowed again. "As you wish. And there is no need for the 'Lord', Vice Regent Leopold." Quentin plopped himself down into his seat. "I have no land, no vassals, and no money. A humble, 'Massys' will do."

This time Vice Regent Leopold removed his spectacles entirely and gave Quentin a hard look. "Your forefathers sacrificed much so their descendants may hold a title," he said, practically scolding Quentin. Quentin crouched lower in his seat apologetically but the Vice Regent continued.

"The court is well aware of the loss your family suffered during the war. Do not compound that loss by forsaking the efforts of your forefathers." His white brow was furrowed as he glared sternly at Quentin. Everyone but Islip shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

"Do not forget, Lord, Massys, that your privilege is the only reason you were able to begin your crusade as a 'champion of the law'."

"Forgive me, Vice Regent," Quentin finally interjected. "I meant no disrespect to you, my forefathers, or the other lords of Hyrule." He put on his most sincere voice and face. A practiced one that he had mastered some time ago. "I meant only to represent myself, not as a lord or a champion of the law, but as a citizen of Hyrule. Anxious to see the law carried out with justice and fairness."

The Vice Regent stared at Quentin for a moment, then returned his spectacles to his face and resumed reading whatever sat in front of him. Quentin let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Lord Massys," the Vice Regent said without looking up from his papers. "I trust Archbishop Islip has already explained to you how we will proceed in the absence of the former general."

"He has," Quentin answered. "I was hoping to approach that topic with you."

"There will be no amendment," the Vice Regent responded without looking up. "Normally I would hear your case and grant exception to you because of your condition." He paused for a moment and glanced up at Quentin. More specifically at Quentin's cane. "But that decree has come down from King Harkinian himself. Ganondorf will only be brought from the Keep when absolutely necessary."

Quentin knew there was no arguing at this point. "I understand."

"Good."

The Vice Regent began gathering all of his papers, shuffling them into some sort of order, then straightening them out. The courtroom was silent except for the scraping of parchment against parchment.

Once the Vice Regent was pleased with his shuffled deck of papers he removed his spectacles, interlaced his fingers, and placed his hands on the table in front of him.

"Without any further delay," he said so everyone could hear. His voice was not so deep as the Archbishop's or even Quentin's but nobody had trouble hearing him. "We will begin the pretrial arraignment hearing for the case of King Harkinian and the People of Hyrule versus Ganondorf."

The only person for the Vice Regent to address on the behalf of Ganondorf, was Quentin Massys. So instead of speaking directly to Quentin, Vice Regent Leopold spoke to everyone in attendance.

"The former general of the Royal Hyrulian Army," he read from the sheet of paper that was on top of his pile. "the Gerudo male, Ganondorf, stands accused of attempted regicide, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit treason, use of black magic, false testimony, and resisting arrest."

"And sacrilege," Archbishop Islip added.

"Right, right," the Vice Regent sparsely acknowledged. "The punishment," he continued reading. "For attempted regicide, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit treason, and the use of black magic, is death." He paused so there could be no misunderstanding or confusion about what he'd just said. Quentin, a veteran of the courtroom, knew now was not the time to speak.

"For his other accused crimes," the Vice Regent resumed. "The punishment for false testimony to the King is the forfeiture of all rank, title, and property, as well as four years imprisonment." Another pause. "The punishment for resisting arrest is that financial compensation be made for any and all injured authorities." He slid a second piece of paper out for reference. "In this case, that would be financial compensation for the hospitalization of seven palace guards. One of whom has been irreversibly maimed."

Gasps, murmurs, and excitement rolled through the audience. Quentin cursed his client under his breath. At least he didn't kill any of them, he thought bemusedly.

"Order!" the Vice Regent commanded. The hushed, excited words were instantly silenced.

"In addition to financial compensation, punishment will include one year imprisonment, ten public lashings for each authority injured, and one month in the pillory for every authority injured."

Seventy lashings, seven months in the pillory, and one year imprisonment, Quentin counted to himself. Ganondorf would gnash his teeth but that couldn't be avoided.

"How does your client claim on these charges levied against him?" the Vice Regent asked directly of Quentin.

Quentin rose to his feet, all eyes on him. He had expected these sorts of initial charges. He had spent all night planning, scheming, and theorizing. He'd done his best to predict the actions of the court and those who would threaten this case.

Quentin cleared his throat. "For the charges of resisting arrest. My client pleads guilty," he announced. "And will by more than happy to compensate the palace guards that were unfortunately and accidentally injured during the confusion of his arrest."

Vice Regent Leopold raised an eyebrow, glanced at the scribe to make sure everything was being recorded, then looked back to Quentin.

"Very well," he said after a moment. "And the other charges?"

Quentin gnawed on the inside of his cheek. It was a nervous tick. His only nervous tick.

"For the charges of false testimony, and use of black magic, my client pleads not guilty."

"And the charges of regicide, attempted murder, treason, and blasphemy?" the Archbishop asked. He was leaning out of his chair, boring down on Quentin with his dark, cold eyes.

Quentin met his gaze and that of the Vice Regent. "I insist all other charges be dismissed from this case due to a lack of implicative evidence."

"The implicative evidence is the testimony of your kingdom's royalty," Vice Regent Leopold said slowly.

"A single testimony, even that of a king, is not enough to subject a citizen to capitol punishment."

Archbishop Islip shot out of his chair. "Treason!" he cried. "To challenge the testimony of your anointed King is treason!"

The audience mirrored the Archbishop's excitement and began crying out their own objections to Quentin's words.

Quentin stood still as a statue, ignoring the cries for his crucifixion. He had expected nothing less than this.

"Order!" the Vice Regent commanded. "Order!" he commanded a second time. The commotion died leaving only the Archbishop still out of his seat, a finger pointed accusingly at Quentin.

"Do you truly mean to challenge the testimony of your King?" Vice Regent Leopold asked after everyone had settled. It was Quentin's impression that the man's eyes were warning Quentin to proceed with extreme caution. But to proceed none the less.

"I do not," Quentin answered evenly. Confusion buzzed through the lords, ladies, and dignitaries. Even the Archbishop seemed momentarily confused. Suspicious rather.

"The testimony that damns my client does not come from the King, does it?"

Every head in the room spun on its axis to face the Vice Regent. The old man, the second most powerful man in the kingdom, said nothing. Quentin had to fight with all his might to keep his lips from stretching into a smug grin.

I knew it, he thought. If the King himself testified that Ganondorf had made an attempt on his life, the Elites, or maybe the Sheikah, would have executed him on the spot, without hesitation.

The accusation must have come from someone else, Quentin had guessed the night before.

And now that the Vice Regent is acting as Officiator for this case, it can't have been him.

"The testimony," the Vice Regent said almost regretfully. "Comes from the King's daughter, Princess Zelda."

Islip whipped his head around and glared at Quentin, a snarl almost present on his lips.

We have a chance, Quentin thought.

"And since the Princess is not of age," Quentin continued, using the room's shock to his advantage. "I question the validity of her accusations."

More commotion from those viewing the procession. Quentin continued before Leopold could call them to order.

"What testimony does our young Princess offer against my client?" he asked.

Without needing to be called to order, curious as any cat, the lords, ladies, and dignitaries silenced themselves and turned to the Vice Regent.

The Vice Regent returned his spectacles to his face, pressed them higher up on his long nose, then lifted a piece of parchment in front of him and cleared his throat.

"The testimony of Princess Zelda is as follows," he read.

"Ganondorf, the Great King of Evil, plots against my father, me, the Goddesses, and the realm. I know this because one week from today he killed my father and attacked me in an attempt to gain access to the Sacred Realm. He seeks the Triforce and WILL obtain the Triforce of Power. He enslaved the citizens of Hyrule and used his black magic to summon demons and monsters across the realm. He reigned for seven years until the Hero of Time, Link, awoke to defeat him. With the help of the Sages, Link and I defeated Ganondorf and returned to this time. The Goddesses have granted us a second chance to stop the King of Darkness and save Hyrule. Ganondorf must be executed now, before it is too late."

As he finished reading, the Vice Regent set the paper on his table very carefully. He did not look up from that sheet.

Nobody made a sound, not until Quentin spoke.

"What the hell?"

* * *

 **Author's Note: I have always wondered how Zelda convinced everyone that Ganondorf was GOING TO take over Hyrule. In my mind, she would come off a little crazy. Thus, the composition of this story. Let me know what you think.**

 **Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

"The Great King of Evil!?" Ganondorf asked. "Is that what she called me?" He threw his head back and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound, Quentin decided. It was deep and gravely and seemed to erupt from the Gerudo man's throat.

Ganondorf's laugh ended abruptly, any sign of mirth gone from his face.

"So Leopold is going to persecute me based on that brat's testimony?"

Quentin nodded. "I would refrain from calling the Princess a brat when you are finally summoned into the court room." He was sitting on his stool, leaning forward on his cane. As soon as Vice Regent Leopold concluded the pretrial arraignment Quentin had hustled over to the Keep and divulged the morning's events to his client.

"Unfortunately her's isn't the only testimony," Quentin continued. "They won't reveal their other witnesses until the actual trial, but supposedly there are several other significant testimonies that condemn you for future crimes."

Ganondorf furrowed his brow contemplatively. He was sitting comfortably on one of the two cots in his cell. Quentin had been surprised to see the bed moved so close to the bars. He wasn't positive but he thought the beds in the Witch Pen had been bolted to the ground at the far end.

"How many other witnesses?" Ganondorf asked. "Six?"

Quentin raised an eyebrow.

Ganondorf shrugged. "Seven? Eight or nine?"

Quentin paused for a moment then answered. "Six," he responded. "Not including a boy the same age as Her Majesty. And they must be six important people, otherwise their testimonies would never be considered."

Ganondorf nodded then rested his chin on his balled fist. He stared out his cell at where the wall of the adjoining room met the ground.

Quentin studied the man carefully. "Do you know who the witnesses are?"

The General lifted his head and met Quentin's gaze.

"The six witnesses of the mysterious crime I commit in the future?" he asked mockingly. "No, I don't know who they are."

Quentin lifted one of his hands off his cane to calm his client.

"Had to ask," he said. "But on the subject of the future." He returned to his forward leaning with both hands. "I know the church has always claimed that the Goddesses, and even the Cardinals, can travel through time."

Ganondorf smiled and let out a short 'ha'. "You're a skeptic then?" he asked.

"Not so much a skeptic as a compassionate nihilist," Quentin replied evenly.

"So an atheist," the General stated. He folded his arms over his chest and maintained his smug grin.

The crippled lord shrugged.

"Most atheists I know fail to support their disbelief in the face of magic," Ganondorf said.

"Maybe I've never seen convincing magic," Quentin offered.

Ganondorf's smile grew even wider. The two hundred fifty pound man leaned forward excitedly.

"No you have, Quentin Massys." The General's eyes were practically glowing. "You saw how I rescued that caravan."

"And that leads me to my question," Quentin interjected, quick to change the subject. "Besides the claims of the Church of the Goddesses, do you know of any magic or spells that grant something as ludicrous as time travel?"

Ganondorf sat back into his seat and brought his hand up to scratch his chin. Dark red stubble was growing there and would likely become an unruly mess if left ungroomed.

"It's not impossible," Ganondorf said pensively.

"But highly unlikely?" Quentin asked.

Still scratching his chin, Ganondorf replied with carefully measured words. "I knew two witches," he started. "From my days in the Gerudo Desert."

Quentin nodded to show he was listening.

"These hags were incredibly powerful, probably the most powerful spell-weavers alive today. Besides being several hundred years old, they could bend the elements as though fire and ice were extensions of their person."

Quentin could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Like most non-magic users, the power of casters intimidated him. The retired soldier would rather face a team of Gerudo assassins - even in his current state - than a single, inexperienced spell-weaver.

"Yet despite all their power," Ganondorf continued. "I doubt even they knew of a way to leap through time. Maybe," he said, raising a conjecturing finger. "Maybe they could slow time, or speed it up. But even then the amount of energy expended would kill one of them. Probably both."

"Kill them?" Quentin asked surprised. "How?"

Ganondorf sighed impatiently. "Yes, my crippled neophyte, kill them."

Quentin blinked his confused eyes.

Ganondorf rolled his eyes. "Without getting lost in the details, magic is simply the absorption, conversion, then dispersion of energy. The more complex the spell, the more energy required. And our bodies only have so much life energy to spare."

Knowing better than to crawl any further into that rabbit hole, Quentin posed his next question.

"So would you say, it would be impossible for the Princess, or any of the Royal Army's spell-weavers, to cast such a complex spell?"

The General returned his hand to his itchy chin.

"In the second part of the girl's testimony she said she and this 'Hero of Time' held pieces of the Triforce, right?"

A nod. "Does that mean something to you?"

A nonchalant shrug. "There are legends that any one piece of the Triforce contains enough energy to perform any number of spells. And to hold all three pieces would grant a man's greatest wish."

Quentin grabbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He massaged the protuberance aggressively in a vain attempt to alleviate his frustration. He knew so little about magic and didn't have the time to do any proper amount of research. To try and bog his brain down now, in such a short amount of time, would only prove to make him sound like a bumbling idiot when he squared off against whichever magic expert the Royal Court provided tomorrow. He would need a different angle.

"Tomorrow," Quentin said after he and Ganondorf had been sitting in silence for some time. Quentin lost in his frustrations and the General lost in thought. "The Royal Court will present its three judges, two of whom we already know, as well as all of their witnesses."

Ganondorf bobbed his head. "Right."

"I will send my assistant, a lad by the name of Spade, to you with a list of every witness's name. It's important that you write down anything and everything you know about these witnesses at that time." Quentin emphasized 'anything' and 'everything' to the General.

"Spade will return your notes to me," Quentin continued. "And I will use them to establish your defense. I will make every attempt to have you summoned before the Royal Court, however they've made it abundantly clear they will be unlikely to acquiesce that request."

"Cowards," the intimidating Gerudo man who crippled seven elite soldiers muttered.

"In the meantime," Quentin said while giving the General a reproaching look. "I will be off to the church's library. There are some things I need to double check before tomorrow's trial."

"So I won't see you until after the trial has begun?" Ganondorf asked.

With an 'oof' Quentin lifted himself from his seat. The pain in his leg was gloriously manageable today. The man saw that as a good omen. The best omen.

"Hopefully you won't see me until they release you as a free man."

Ganondorf snorted. "So in one year and seven months?"

Quentin chuckled despite the General's unamused expression.

"You're welcome for that, General. We lost that battle so we could win the war."

"I will not spend seven months in a pillory," the General said for what was likely the fifth time.

Quentin shook his head and turned to leave.

"At least you didn't kill them!"

* * *

The light suddenly vanished and Quentin swore in the darkness. He fumbled around the desk trying to find his flint and steel.

"Should have lit a new candle hours ago," he grumbled.

Finding his fire striker at the end of the table Quentin grasped it in his hand and began fumbling for his next artifact, a fresh candle. After knocking several tomes off his desk, banging his elbow twice, and swearing seven times he was finally able to find a candle. Careful not to ignite the ancient parchment on his desk he lit the new candle and set it in the pool of wax, which was all that remained in the candle-holder from his first stick.

Returned to the presence of the light, Quentin duteously picked up the papers he'd clumsily knocked to the ground and organized them on his desk. It only took him a moment to find where he'd left off.

"In the days to come," Quentin read aloud. At this point reading the words aloud was the only way he could stay awake.

"The Golden Goddesses may each choose a mortal to champion their cause. The chosen will come from any race, any bloodline, and any position."

Quentin groaned. This was the fourth such excerpt that spoke of manifestations, champions, prophets and the sort. Of course every one of them were sure to remain vague enough that practically anyone would be able to claim the rights as a manifestation.

"What a load of rubbish," Quentin said as he scanned the rest of the paragraph. Nothing stuck out to him as being unique or important.

"You think so?"

Quentin flinched but stopped himself from turning around. He recognized that voice. He'd spent far too many hours in the courtroom with the Archbishop not to recognize the man's deep voice - though not as deep as Ganondorf's - from a mile away.

"I thought you of all people would appreciate the impartial nature of the Goddesses' selection," Archbishop Islip said when Quentin remained quiet.

"I would," Quentin replied finally spinning around. The Archbishop was standing just inside the doorway of the cellar that doubled as the temple's library. Quentin noticed he didn't carry his own torch or candle, meaning he'd descended the stairs in complete darkness.

"I would, if the Church reciprocated the notion of the Goddesses when dealing with Hyrule's citizens."

Islip held his arms out to each side. "Does the Church not?" he asked. "I was nothing more than a street urchin who was forced to be an altar boy as punishment for petty theft. Now I'm a humble archbishop of the Goddesses."

"Damon was a commoner too," Quentin countered. "A truly humble man who risked his last ruppee to save his family."

The Archbishop's arms slapped the sides of his robe.

"And he was judged fairly in the eyes of the King and the Goddesses." The conviction in the man's voice was commendable. Quentin wondered if the Archbishop could even fake that sort of thing.

"Of course he made counterfeit tax stamps!" Quentin bellowed. If his cane were closer at hand he would have clambered out of his seat and gotten in the Archbishop's face.

"The Merchant's Guild couldn't handle the fact that a nameless commoner was excelling in a foreign trade." Quentin pointed an accusing finger at the shark-eyed man. "You know as well as I do that they were trying to cripple him with 'depositary' and 'securtiy' fees."

The Archbishop did not bother getting excited. He'd already won this case. Quentin's previous client was already buried outside the castle walls.

"Your client broke the law," Islip answered plainly. "The Merchant's Guild acted out of greed, envy and contempt but they did not break any laws." The Archbisop touched his forehead, his left shoulder, his right shoulder, then his head again. "The Goddesses will judge them upon the end of days."

Quentin stared hard at the man. Always, he looked for some sign of insincerity to exploit but so far the Archbishop had proven to be a true believer in his religion. A true zealot.

"Why did you come down here, Archbishop?" Quentin finally asked.

The Archbishop blinked his predator eyes for the first time since his entrance.

"I wanted to speak to you about your client, Lord Massys."

"That would be ill advised," Quentin said immediatly. "You will be one of the judges tomorrow. I will not divulge any information about my client or his defence except in an official capacity."

Islip waived his hand dismissively. "That is all well and fine. I did not come to poke holes in your theoretical defense. I came to offer you counsel."

"Oh?" Quentin asked mockingly. The Archbishop ignored his tone.

"In greater detail, I have read the testimonies of the General's crimes." Islip raised his already too high eyebrows and took a step forward. "Quentin, the General plunges Hyrule into a darkness this realm hasn't seen in centuries."

Quentin blinked lazily, wholly unimpressed. "Allegedly."

The Archbishop frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His shark eyes scanned Quentin's face searching for something.

"You recognize a warrior when you see one, yes?" Islip asked.

The random question caught Quentin off guard. "Uh, yes," he responded hesitantly. "Usually."

Islip nodded his head. "Tomorrow you will meet one. You'll meet a warrior whose eyes are still clouded by the blood of his enemies, and the scenes he's had to endure." The Archbishop spoke solemnly and sternly. "The warrior is dressed as a child in green from the forest. I pray you'll take his testimony to heart."

"And I 'pray' you ready yourself for the ramifications of besmirching the name of an innocent man," Quentin taunted. "A man who saved both our lives and the entire kingdom."

Two blinks from the shark eyes.

"The Goddesses will discern his innocence."

Quentin wanted to spit at the Archbishop but he managed to control himself.

"If you don't mind, Archbishop," Quentin said through partially clenched teeth. "I have a lot more reading to do."

The Archbishop bowed ever so slightly.

"Of course, Lord Massys. It's always good to see nobles delving into the lessons of the Goddesses. Have a good night."

Quentin watched the Archbishop exit the cellar and begin his climb up the dark staircase.

"Wow," Quentin said when he was sure the man had left. _I hate that guy._

* * *

 **Author's Note: Not a lot to add down here. Hope it's tolerable so far. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

Spade let his legs swing freely beneath him, now completely and utterly bored. He was so excited earlier when his boss had come to him asking for his help. This would be the first trial he was allowed to watch. He'd put on his best shirt and pants, he even had a brand new leather belt that Quentin had provided for the special occasion. His shoes looked out of place with the new garb. When he'd asked Quentin why he couldn't have new shoes to match, Quentin explained that running from the Keep to the Castle in new shoes would cover the boy's feet in blisters. His well worn shoes would serve him much better.

"Try not to fidget so much," Quentin said in a hushed voice.

Spade slapped his ankles together stopping his legs immediately.

"Sorry," the boy said as he fixed his posture. He noted that his boss started rubbing and fidgeting with his bad knee and leg.

The boy scanned the courtroom that was proving to be far more boring than he'd anticipated. Rich people filled the stands on both sides of him. They all appeared as bored and disinterested as he was. The men whispered and muttered to each other, their ironed surcoats restricting their movement, forcing them to lean forward entirely to talk. The painted women bobbed their head towards one another, sometimes taking the time to whisper behind white gloved hands.

Spade's gaze carried him around the courtroom until it settled on the raised table directly ahead of him. Two of three judges had arrived along with the scribe and a handful of squires. Currently everyone was waiting on the Vice Regent.

A shiver ran down the boy's spine as he locked eyes with one of the judges. The man's eyes looked solid black, and his face hard and unsymmetrical. Spade turned away instantly.

"Don't fret the Archbishop," Quentin said with a snort. Spade looked up at his master, who was touching the side of his nose with his index finger. "The Goddesses forbade him from touching little boys."

The double doors swung open at the far end of the courtroom.

"All rise!" Islip commanded.

For the third time, once for each judge, everyone in the hall rose to their feet. Vice Regent Leopold entered, garbed far more impressively than when he'd appeared for the pretrial arraignment. This time there were no informal greetings to the dignitaries in the stands. No good morning for the scribe, and none for his fellow judges.

Today is all business, Quentin thought to himself. After the Vice Regent was seated everyone else was allowed to follow suit. Leopold took a moment to make sure that Quentin was not waiting to be ushered into his seat as he had been the previous morning.

There were no papers to shuffle around this time. Everything was already staged and organized. The stiff tenseness in the room would likely be maintained for as long as possible. Quentin massaged the side of his knee with his thumb.

"Today," the Vice Regent projected, "the twenty-first day of the summer moon, of the year 1314, we announce the beginning of the trial of Hyrule Kingdom versus Ganondorf no surname."

The scribe, who sat at a desk on the ground level, was flitting away with his quill and ink. He knew he couldn't miss a single syllable of what transpired. Quentin remembered well the pressure and the hand cramps that went along with that job.

"As the law - set forth by the late King Hadrian and enforced by King Harkinian - states, the defendant will be judged by three appointed citizens of Hyrule, one of whom shall act as Officiator." Vice Regent Leopold had repeated this a thousand times. That being said, he never allowed the repetition to belittle the seriousness of the words he spoke.

"I, Vice Regent Leopold, have been appointed as Judge and Officiator." With his right hand he gestured to the man beside him. "General Carson has been appointed as Judge." With his left hand he gestured towards the Archbishop. "And Archbishop Islip has been appointed as Judge."

General Carson. Quentin racked his brain for any and every memory of the man. He knew the man had fought in the Gerudo War. And he knew the promotion to General was recent, very recent. Other than that, he couldn't summon any information. He'd never fought alongside or under the man, and he didn't know anyone who had. Given that, with Ganondorf's arrest the man had received a promotion, Quentin had no doubt which way Carson would vote.

"After the defendant's opening statements," the Vice Regent continued, "or in this case, the defendant's representative, the Royal Court will summon forth all evidence and witnesses, one at a time, so that their testimonies may be heard and recorded. The defendant's representative may cross-examine each witness until he is satisfied with their testimony. After the cross-examination the defendant's representative will be afforded the opportunity to sway the judges' minds as to whether or not each testimony should be validated."

This would be the key to the case, Quentin knew. He dared to feel optimistic about his odds here. It should not be difficult at all to challenge someone's story that supposedly happened in the future.

"Once all testimonies have been heard, cross-examined, and validated, the defendant and/or his representative will be allowed to make a closing argument. Once the final statements are made, the judges will retire briefly to discuss everything that has transpired. At this point the judges will come to a verdict. A majority vote will determine whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty. The judges' decision will be final and the resulting commands will be carried out swiftly."

The Vice Regent paused to clear his throat. "Without further ado, the trial of Hyrule Kingdom versus Ganondorf no surname, begins."

"Lord Quentin Massys," Islip said without needing any urging from the Vice Regent. The two of them had judged many trials and operated together smoothly.

Quentin pulled himself to his feet, careful not to let slip his traditional "oof". He stood as tall as he could, carrying most of his weight on his good leg as opposed to his cane. He was slightly taller than the average Hylian, but his poor posture from leaning on his cane and hunching over tomes and books had him looking a bit shorter than average.

Islip's shark eyes, as intense as ever, bore into the impoverished noble. "Do you represent Ganondorf today in front of the court?"

"I do," he said loud enough that everyone could hear him. This was the nineteenth time he'd spoken those words. Usually he had some sniveling, anxious peasant quivering behind him. This time he had only his bored, fidgety assistant with him. This client could hardly be considered sniveling or quivering.

A nod of the Archbishop's head. "Your client, Ganondorf, stands accused of regicide, attempted murder, treason, and blasphemy."

Whispering amongst the onlookers was inevitable. No doubt rumors had spread like wildfire as to who was actually standing trial and what their crimes had been. The sheep couldn't help but bleat to one another that they'd known all along or they'd known the General was a scoundrel.

"The punishment for these crimes is execution," Islip said. Quentin wondered if anyone else could see the man salivating. "How pleads your client?"

"Not guilty," Quentin declared. "On all accounts."

"Very well," the Archbishop said with a smirk. "You may begin your opening statement." He and the other two judges picked up quills with which to take notes.

Quentin bowed then stepped away from he and Spade's chairs so that he was standing in the center of the hall. His cane made its telltale clicking noise as he moved.

"Thank you, Archbishop, Vice Regent, and congratulations on your promotion General." He bowed to each person accordingly and offered his most lewd smile to the general. The man's face turned a distinct shade of red. Quentin turned to the Archbishop.

"I'm sorry, Archbishop, but did you, by chance, forget to declare the nature of my client's crimes?"

A blink was elicited from the man.

"I did not," he said evenly.

Quentin pivoted on his good foot and pointed his cane at the scribe.

"Be sure to add, my good lad, that my client has not even allegedly committed any of these crimes yet."

Murmurs rippled through the audience. Quentin turned to address them.

"That's right my lords and ladies. Ganondorf has been accused of a crime that does not even take place until the the end of the next moon!"

"The court knows the nature of the defendant's charges," General Carson practically shouted.

Quentin fought to keep the smile off his face. This general would prove an easy man to emotionally compromise.

Quentin bowed as low as his handicap would let him. "Of course, General Carson, but I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to ensure such a thing was recorded." When the scribe looked up from his paper Quentin offered him a wink.

"This is proving to be a shabby opening statement, even for you," Islip taunted. His chin was propped up comfortably by his arm on the table.

"The burden of proof!" Quentin cried to the audience. "The weight of evidence that the court must provide against any and every defendant to ascertain guilt. The failure to provide evidence results in the immediate release of the accused, as written by King Hadrian."

Quentin pivoted again so that he was squarely facing the three judges. He put his feet directly beneath each shoulder, set his cane directly in front of him, and stood as tall as he could with his chin up and shoulders back. He knew he didn't present as intimidating a silhouette as Ganondorf but the man's shoulders were still burly from his years as a soldier. His chest was still strong and his jaw was thick. He stood confidently in front of the three men that stood between him and a debt repaid.

"The burden," he pronounced each word clearly and lucidly, "to prove what becomes of tomorrow, is too great a task for anyone. How many kings of old were promised by soothsayers and prophets, what the future would hold? And how many soothsayers and prophets were crucified when their prophecies crumbled?" Quentin took the time to meet each judge's gaze evenly.

"That the Royal Court claims to have eight witnesses who can reveal the secrets of tomorrow. . ." Quentin shook his head. "That is a burden I would loathe to bear."

"Is that all?" Islip asked, feigning an aura of the unimpressed.

Quentin bowed only his head. "That is." He made to return to his seat when the Vice Regent stopped him.

"You wish to say nothing about your client's person?" Leopold asked, a little surprised. The opening statements he'd heard in the past usually emphasized what an honest and good person the defendant was. Quentin knew better than to attempt such an approach with someone as notorious as Ganondorf.

"What can I say about the former general?" Quentin asked. "I cannot tell you, nor the court, anything you don't already know. He is a powerful man, who has selflessly volunteered his might to the King and the realm." Quentin turned from the judges so that he was again speaking to the audience.

"He speaks harshly. Harsh, honest words that have rallied the lesser forces of the Hyrule army against an awesome enemy. His eyes promise death. The death of any who have ever threatened our King, our castle, or our realm. His laughs is deep and arrogant. As arrogant as a man who single-handedly saved everyone here from the curved blades of the Gerudo horde!"

He swept his arms out wide to encompass every soul that sat before him. He winced as too much of his weight came down on his bad leg. Not quick enough to alleviate all the pain, but quick enough to steal his own thunder, he hobbled to get his cane back under him. After taking a second to recompose himself he turned to face the Vice Regent.

"No, Vice Regent, I have nothing to add about my client's person." Leaning heavily on his cane, Quentin limped back to his chair.

He wished he had a royal portrait painter with him in that moment. Spade's face had lit up as though he'd just found the Triforce himself. Even as Quentin limped past him to return to his seat, the boy stared at him with awe-struck eyes.

It was a good performance, Quentin thought to himself. And I mean that in the most humble way possible.

"Order," the Vice Regent commanded. Quentin had succeeded in getting the wealthy sheep excited.

The audience settled down then looked at the judges expectantly. Leopold gave the audience a warning look then turned to General Carter and nodded.

The newly promoted general cleared his throat. "With the defendant's opening statement complete, the royal court presents its first witness. Saria no surname, Kokiri, female, unknown age."

"A Kokiri?" Spade asked aloud. The same question echoed in Quentin's head. He hadn't expected one of the fabled forest children.

"Quick now, Spade." Quentin scribbled the girl's name and information down on a piece of paper. "Run this to General Ganondorf."

"Got it," Spade responded enthusiastically.

"Remember, lad, time is of the essence. Now hurry along." Quentin handed his assistant the paper and the charcoal pen. With a curious glance towards the door from where the Kokiri would be appearing any moment now, Spade shoved the paper and pen into his pocket.

"You'll see her when you return, now go!" Quentin commanded. Not needing to be warned of a boxing of the ears, Spade took off, slipping beyond one of the two doors that served as the main entrance.

With the boy off retrieving helpful information from Ganondorf, Quentin turned his attention to the opening door behind the judges' table.

A Kokiri, he thought, I wonder who else they're hiding in that room back there.

Sure enough, a girl with green hair, green clothes, and even a green tint to her skin appeared from the doorway. A guard from inside the room reached out and closed the door, preventing Quentin or anyone else from seeing who was waiting back there.

She looked no older than nine, the Kokiri girl. Supposedly the children of the forest were immortal, feeding off the energy of some enchanted tree that protected all living creatures in the forest. Quentin hadn't even imagined he would ever meet one. He'd doubted they even existed.

"I'm sorry," she said in a very child-like voice. "Where should I stand?"

Very sweetly Islip showed her the podium that was reserved for witnesses. A stool was already provided and the girl wasted no time in clambering up.

"Lady Saria," Islip said with a charming smile, charming for a shark anyway. "Please tell the court, in your own words, what you experienced at the hands of Ganondorf?"

It was when she started speaking that Quentin realized using the girl was a stroke of genius. No doubt her testimony had been Islip's idea.

Her story was remarkably similar to the Princess's. At the end of the next moon, she claimed, Ganondorf would take the throne after killing the King and making an attempt on the Princess's life. He would then place a curse on the forest, along with the rest of the realm, and would even lock little Saria away in some abandoned temple.

Crocodile tears and whimpers emitted from the girl as she told her sad story. Quentin cautiously glanced at the crowd and saw that all too many of them were touching their hands to their hearts, enraptured by the song of the green siren.

The power of the audience, of the masses, was not to be underestimated. Sure the judges would give the final verdict, but it was the masses that would cry yay or nay. The lords and ladies in attendance represented the most powerful one percent of Hyrule. If they were outraged by a verdict, guilty or not, they had the power to topple Hyrule. Whether it was through trade embargoes, boycotting, lobbying, or even spreading discontent, these polished posteriors held sway over the kingdom, and therefore the judges. And right now, Saria held sway over the masses.

Her story ended with some candid retelling of how she was saved by the "Hero of Time" and how she and the rest of the "sages" defeated Ganondorf. After he turned into a giant horned monster of course. Just before her story ended Spade returned, red faced and covered in sweat, with Ganondorf's notes.

With a sigh of relief Quentin took the parchment from his winded assistant and straightened out the paper.

 ** _Female Kokiri named Saria_** , he'd written at the top of the paper. Directly beneath his own writing were the giant block letters of the General.

 ** _WHO?_** Quentin read.

"Goddesses dammit."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Originally I was going to include more of the witnesses in this chapter but it was looking like that would make it far too long. More to follow soon! Let me know what you think! (I know Rauru is the first sage, don't worry about him)**

 **Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

"There's more," Spade said while he struggled to catch his breath. "I figured that wouldn't be enough of an answer for you so I asked him for more."

Quentin turned the paper over and sure enough there was a whole paragraph written in the same giant block letters. Quentin gave his assistant an appreciative nod and indicated for him to take his seat and rest. Two of the judges were distracted from the Kokiri's story and looked over at Quentin. He ignored them and studied the General's words.

 ** _Been to Kokiri Forest and Faron Woods once to track down a stolen artifact. Saw the forest children but never spoke to one. Spoke to a tree though. Tree knew where the artifact was. Couldn't outwit the tree. Returned empty handed. Didn't kill anyone._**

Admittedly, without having just heard the Kokiri girl's story, the General's words would have sounded like gibberish. With two accounts of talking trees and immortal children, and one of them standing on a stool in front of him, Quentin had to forcefully accept all of it as the truth.

"Thank you, Lady Saria," Archbishop Islip said. Quentin brought his attention back to the trial. "This was very brave of you."

The green siren sniffled then brought a dainty green tinted hand up to wipe away a stray tear. "I only hope it's enough," she said. "We need to stop him before it's too late."

Quentin rolled his eyes.

"The defendant may now cross-examine the witness," Vice Regent Leopold said. "Unless you need more time to confer with your client?"

The Kokiri girl's head spun around and she zeroed in on Quentin. A look of confusion was evident across her young face.

Quentin shook his head while pulling himself to his feet. "That won't be necessary, Vice Regent, but thank you." He looked at the girl, the first witness of this case and smiled at her.

"Lady Saria, correct?" he asked kindly.

Cautiously the forest girl nodded. "Yes," she squeaked.

His cane clicked against the hard polished floor as he carried himself to the center of the courtroom, equal distance from the judges, the witness, and Spade.

"It must come as some comfort that Ganondorf was not present during your retelling."

Saria glanced at the Archbishop then back at Quentin. "I was promised he wouldn't be here."

Quentin raised his hand up. "I understand. He's an intimidating man, and it sounds like you've experience quite enough at his hand."

The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The whole kingdom has. Especially the Princess," she said.

"Or will, rather," Quentin corrected. "Can you answer a question for me, Lady Saria?" Before waiting for the girl's answer he popped the question. "What year did Ganondorf, or his phantom as you called it, seal you into that temple?"

"Were you not listening?" General Carter asked. "She said seven years from now."

Quentin bobbed his head. "Yes, general, I was listening. But I am interested in hearing from Saria specifically, the numeric date of when Ganondorf allegedly imprisoned her."

Everyone in the chamber turned to the girl expectantly. There was no missing the red that rushed to her cheeks.

"Well," she said trying to shrink backwards. "I don't know the exact date. . ."

"That's fine," Quentin said quickly. "What about the date that you defeated Ganondorf?"

Her cheeks, rosy from embarrassment stood out even more prominently against her green tinted skin.

"I don't know that –"

"No, you're right," Quentin cut her off again. "Such traumatic events probably flew by in an unprecedented haze. I have an easier question for you then." Quentin knew this was a gamble. He was making a lot of assumptions based on very little information, about an entire race he knew very little about.

"How old are you, Lady Saria?"

"Objection!" Islip cried. "What does the girl's age have to do with your client's crimes?"

Calmly Quentin turned to face the judges, but centered himself on the Vice Regent, the most reasonable judge.

"I am allowed to measure the witness's competency and validity as a witness. Surely a child who has just spent the last hour recalling events of the future in great detail can answer a simple question regarding her age."

Islip's shark eyes were narrowed dangerously. That was how Quentin knew he was about to win. He looked to the Vice Regent. "May I continue?"

Leopold nodded, and scribbled something down.

When Quentin turned back to address his cornered witness, the girl was no longer any shade of green. She was bright red and visibly in distress. She knew she was trapped. She was smart enough to know what Quentin was about to do.

"We don't really measure time in the forest," she said weakly.

"Just so I'm clear," Quentin enunciated loudly. "You don't know how old you are?"

Saria shook her head. She was biting her lips and looked very much like a seven-year-old girl who was about to cry.

"Yet you are confident enough to tell the court that Ganondorf came to your forest, killed your guardian, kidnapped and imprisoned you, then was systematically defeated by seven sages, seven years later?"

"It's the truth!" she practically cried.

Quentin tapped the bottom of his cane against the floor. "In your story you said Ganondorf killed your 'Great Deku Tree' yet by your own accord your 'Hero of Time' met with him before saying goodbye. How did Ganondorf kill the tree when he wasn't even there?"

Saria opened her mouth but the only thing that escaped were unintelligible grunts and half words.

Quentin turned his back to her entirely so he was facing the judges and the attending lords and ladies. "I move to dismiss Saria's testimony as her confidence as a witness is unreliable." The spectators began murmuring amongst each other. "Whatever this child claims to have experienced cannot be trusted. As her testimony stands now, it is nothing but unwarranted prejudice and slander against my client."

"Order!" Leopold commanded.

"More over," Quentin continued. "I recommend the Royal Court remove any further witnesses that are not of age and therefore cannot be relied on."

Saria burst into tears and leapt from her stool. Without anyone guiding her she sprinted past Quentin, Spade, and the stationary guards and ran outside the giant double doors.

Quentin could swear he felt the head emanating off the livid Islip and the furious General Carter. Leopold was the only one who kept his composure.

With a sigh he said, "Very well. Saria, Kokiri, female's testimony will be removed. Nothing uttered by her will be considered in the verdict."

A triumphant cheer played itself out in Quentin's mind. He hadn't expected such a victory so early in the case.

"The court is going to take a short recess. We will resume in ten minutes," Leopold announced.

All three judges rose from their seats. An attendant off to the side gave the order for everyone else to rise. After the three judges disappeared into the back chamber everyone was allowed to return to their seats.

"Did you have to be so mean to her?" Spade asked when Quentin painfully lowered himself into his seat.

Quentin looked at his young assistant. The boy wouldn't make eye contact but he could sense that the boy was cross, disapproving of his master's actions.

"She'll be fine, Spade."

He didn't look convinced.

"Listen here, lad." Quentin put his calloused hand on his assistant's shoulder. "It was her feelings and pride against the General's life. If anyone should feel bad it's the Archbishop for subjecting her to the court."

"You mean you," Spade said defiantly.

Momentarily shocked by the boy's defiance Quentin tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder but caught himself. With a sigh he brought his hand back to resting on his cane.

"You did well, Spade. Let's hope the rest of this case goes that well."

The rest of the case did not go that well. When the judges returned from their recess Quentin could see in Islip's eyes that the worst was yet to come. Lord Quentin Massys swore under his breath when the king of the Gorons, King Darunia appeared from the far chamber door. Spade was dispatched immediately and Quentin internally dove through every memory and and report of Goron and Hylian affairs.

The massive Goron King was the exact opposite of the little forest girl who had quivered behind the podium. The giant man of rock bellowed his story, recalling how Ganondorf first spoke to him in person, seeking to take the Goron's Ruby. When negotiations fell through Ganondorf had dropped a boulder in front of the entrance to the Goron's favorite feeding grounds. After the boy who would eventually become the "Hero of Time" cleared the boulder and defeated a giant fire breathing lizard, King Darunia claimed that Ganondorf summoned a dragon and released it into the Goron's temple. After a third of the Goron's were devoured by the beast the "Hero of Time" returned and slew the dragon.

Spade returned before the Goron King's story had ended. There was much more of Ganondorf's writing this time.

 _ **King Darunia and I have spoken several times. I asked for his help during the war and he refused me. I came to him again recently, alone, for information about an artifact. He threatened me and some of his subjects chased me off their mountain.I had to blast a boulder aside to distract them.**_

 _ **Darunia's emotions are wild and random but make no mistake, he is a seasoned warrior. Even I would have trouble killing him.**_

Quentin crumpled the paper up immediately. Goddesses forbid anyone saw that last comment.

"But all this talk of future sins is ridiculous!" the Goron King shouted. He grabbed the edge of the podium in his giant hands, the wood visibly cracking beneath the power of his grip. "I demand that he pay for his current crimes! Then let the future sort itself out!"

"I couldn't agree more," Quentin said rising to his feet. "Judges, may I address your witness?"

Leopold nodded and gestured for Quentin to continue.

Turning to the Goron, Quentin bowed as low as he could. "Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you, let alone be afforded the chance to speak to you."

Darunia crossed his thick arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. His purple eyes went from Quentin's cane to the man's face.

"I've heard of you," Darunia said unceremoniously. "The crippled noble who fights for the King of Thevees."

Still in his bowing position, "I'm flattered one so distinguished would have heard of little old me. I fear I am more crippled these days than I am noble." He returned to his upright posture, both hands resting on his cane. There would be no intimidating the rock monster that was King Darunia. So Quentin opted for a comfortable, relaxed stance.

"If you would, King Darunia, how many times have you personally met with Ganondorf?" Quentin asked.

"In the present? Twice."

"Can you tell me about your first meeting?"

King Darunia glanced at the Archbishop. "He trespassed into my kingdom while the Hylians and Gerudo waged war."

"And what was his purpose?" Quentin asked. "Surely a man trespassing would want to avoid the King."

"He came asking me for soldiers," King Darunia answered. "He wanted to enlist the help of my men."

"And what did you say to him?"

King Darunia reared his wide head back. Quentin almost suspected he had a neck hidden behind his chin and beard.

"The affairs of my realm are not at question here," he said forcefully. "It is no business of this court what happens in my private meetings."

Careful to shift his weight to his good leg Quentin raised his hands up defensively. "Of course, your Highness, of course." He hopped backwards a few inches then returned to his stance. "But you see, I fought in the Gerudo War. Archbishop Islip here fought in the war too. Some say General Carter even made an appearance."

A "humph" was elicited from the general. Quentin ignored him and turned to Islip.

"Archbishop, do you remember seeing any Gorons on any of the battlefields?" he asked.

Islip was not impressed or threatened. "Are you addressing the witness or have you skipped to closing statements with the judges, Lord Massys?"

With a smirk Quentin turned back to King Darunia. "No, he, nor I, nor General Carter saw any of your subjects in the field. So it's not hard to guess that you rejected the former general's plea for help."

"Ha!" Darunia laughed. "I would hardly call it a plea. A Gerudo man, stinking of black magic, showed up uninvited demanding I send him soldiers to help the Hylians in a war on the other side of the country. I'd have been a fool to believe him."

"You're right, a wise man would sit atop his mountain and watch the lesser races kill each other off."

"I did not call you a lesser -"

"But you did not deem us worthy of your help!" Quentin shouted back. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and his anger rising. Why was he getting so emotional, he wondered. This wasn't like him.

"Even after word reached you that King Harkinian had endorsed Ganondorf. I've never met a Goron but if a Hylian soldier watched from his moutain, we'd brand him craven."

Splinters of wood went flying in every direction as the enraged Goron's fists demolished the podium. Gasps and cries of fear escaped the lips of the weak of heart and more than one guard reached for his weapon. Quentin could not be more pleased.

He spun around to address the nobles in the stands. "This uncontrollable anger is what Ganondorf met, not once, but twice! Once to ask for help on our behalf, and a second time to seek coalition between our races by bringing a lost artifact to King Harkinian. It was out of fear for his life that he fled the second time, having to scatter rocks and boulders in his attempt to escape."

He could feel his smug grin sneaking onto his face. It was poor form to arrogantly smile in the middle of a trial but he couldn't help it, he could feel it coming.

But then he felt two giant hands grab him on each arm. Before he could even grunt in protest his feet left the ground.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Second witness! The next is going to be my favorite I think. Bit of a short chapter I know but couldn't think of a better stopping point before the next one. Hope you are all enjoying it thus far.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

"YOU FOOL!" The Goron King's voice shook the walls of the courtroom while his mighty arms shook Quentin. "I WATCHED MY PEOPLE DIE! I WATCHED MY KINSMEN GET DEVOURED!" He shook Quentin so hard the Hylian's vision was filled with flashing lights and stars. His cane fell from his grasp and his head whipped back and forth in a violent manner.

"King Darius!" someone yelled. "Stop this!" they tried to command.

Quentin could feel his consciousness slipping away, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to save himself.

"Darius!" a different voice warned.

There was a loud CRACK. The suspended cripple was dropped from the hands of the Goron and fell in a crumpled heap. His head in terrible pain and his vision swimming Quentin feared his spine had just been snapped.

"Those cruel harlots," he thought despite his pain. "My leg wasn't enough, the Goddesses had to sever my spine too."

He vaguely felt someone put their hand on his shoulder. He blinked through his disorientation, willing his eyes to focus.

"Are you alright, Massys?" It was Spade. He was crouched over his employer, looking nearly as shooken up as Quentin felt.

Slowly and carefully Quentin wiggled his fingers then his toes. Delighted to find he could still feel them he carefully propped himself up on his elbows and looked to see who had stopped the enraged Goron. Archbishop Islip, of all people, was standing in front of King Darunia, the broken shaft of a spear clenched in his hands. King Darunia was facing the Archbishop, his back to Quentin. Quentin couldn't see the Goron King's face but Islip's shark-eyes were undaunted and feral.

"King Darunia," Islip said slowly in a tense voice. "It is clear you are not feeling well. Perhaps you should retire for the day."

The mountainous shoulders of the Goron rose then fell. Without a glance back at Quentin he headed for the double doors.

"An honor to meet you, Your Highness!" Quentin called.

Darunia shoved his way past the doors and left the court without a word.

"Order!" Leopold commanded. The masses ignored him. Every witness and opinion of the sheeple needed to be heard. "Order!" he called again. When the crowd refused to settle down he gestured for the guards. Without needing a verbal command six royal guards pressed towards the crowd and began slamming the butts of their spears against the marble floor. The masses were settled.

Spade grabbed Quentin under his armpit and helped hoist him to his feet. Several grunts, moans, and swear words were elicited from his employer, but Quentin was appreciative all the same.

"Grab me my cane, will you?"

While Spade picked up Quentin's cane from among the remnants of the shattered spear, Quentin met Islip's eyes. The Archbishop was still holding the broken spear and looked a little confused about what to do with it. Quentin nodded in appreciation. Islip narrowed his eyes, walked over and handed the broken spear to a squire, then took a seat next to Leopold.

"The court will adjourn for today," Leopold announced suddenly. "I think we've had enough excitement. You are all excused."

Quentin rubbed his neck and made to leave when the Vice Regent stopped him.

"Lord Massys, a word with us in private." It was not a request.

The exhausted and shaken Lord Massys let out a quiet sigh. To his assistant he said, "Go wait with Ganondorf at the Keep. I'll be there as soon as I'm finished."

Quentin followed the three judges into the back room while the guards escorted everyone else out the front doors. No doubt the events of the courtroom would be exaggerated then passed from soul to soul like a plague.

The back room was just as Quentin had seen during a case some few months ago. It had been one of his better cases. He'd proved that a lord had raped a peasant woman and therefore been forced by the King to pay the girl an incredible sum of money. If the rapist had been anyone other than an esteemed lord he would have been castrated and probably killed. It was a miracle that he'd been punished at all, especially when the crime was committed against a mere pissant. Quentin considered it some of his best work.

"Are you fucking insane?" Carter asked when the door to the small room closed. His bulbous eyes were threatening to leap from his face. "Are you trying to start a war with the Gorons?"

Quentin shrugged nonchalant. "Worse things have happened in court," he offered.

"Why is it they all stem from you?" Leopold asked. His voice wasn't quite angry, but not quite amused either.

Again Quentin shrugged, an action that was becoming more painful as his muscles and bones were starting to react to the abuse they'd endured not moments ago.

Vice Regent Leopold shook his head. "Anyway, I brought you back here to ensure you receive my warning."

"Warning, Vice Regent?" Quentin glanced from the Vice Regent to the Archbishop. The man's face was especially expressionless.

"Yes. We are all familiar with your mannerisms during a trial," Leopold started.

"Bordering on insubordination," Carter added. Quentin rolled his eyes.

"The King, the Princess, and the royal company was planning to attend the last half of this trial, which has now been moved to tomorrow."

Quentin instantly knew what the warning was going to be and despite the patronizing, he appreciated the notification.

Leopold continued, "I don't need to tell you that this is a sensitive case to His Majesty. While the three of us can stomach your. . .style. . . it would be unwise to carry on in your typical insouciant manner."

"I would hardly call it insouciant," Quentin started.

"Arrogant then!" Leopold snapped.

Quentin took a step back and lowered his head. "Of course, Vice Regent. I appreciate your warning and will heed your advice."

Leopold brought his hand up and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Good," he said when he was done alleviating stress. "That is all. I'm sure you'll want to go speak with Ganondorf now."

Another short bow. "Thank you, Vice Regent, General." He stood up and looked the Archbishop in the eye. "And thank you especially, Islip."

Still expressionless the Archbishop offered the slightest of nods. Quentin turned and left.

* * *

"Bah!" General Carter spat when the door closed behind the crippled lord. "You should have let the Goron shake him for a bit longer."

"Nonsense," Islip disagreed. "If Darunia had killed him we would have very likely gone to war."

Carter grumbled unintelligibly before saying, "Still, the bastard's crushed four of our witnesses and only even spoke to two of them! What are we going to tell King Zora when his daughter returns home and says we asked her NOT to give her testimony."

It was Leopold's turn to answer. "The Zora Princess seemed to understand her predicament after what happened to the forest girl. Sending a second or third child out there against Massys would have irreparably damaged the Princess's case."

"The Hylian boy still insists on testifying," Islip said. "I think it would be wise to accommodate him."

"Why?" Carter asked. "Vice Regent just said-"

"He is touched by the Goddesses," Islip answered. "Maybe more so than the Princess."

Carter sucked in air between his teeth and examined the Archbishop skeptically. He knew better than to question the man in matters of religion. When it appeared to the newly promoted general that the Vice Regent wasn't going to say anything more, he changed his position.

"I agree," Carter finally said with an air of luster. "Sending the boy before the Sheikah will throw Massys off his game."

"No," Islip said. "No, the Hero of Time will speak last."

* * *

The only good thing about having been roughed up by the Goron King was that the pain in his head, neck, shoulders, and back distracted Quentin from the pain in his leg. Only cursing the Goddesses twice and the Gorons thrice Quentin made it to the Keep in record time. He took great care to ignore the excitable citizens who pointed at him and whispered. With some amusement he wondered if he might tack on a new nickname after this trial. "The impoverished, crippled, rag-doll, champion of the law, lord," he thought to himself. "Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."

He glared at the gargoyles that sat atop the entrance to the Keep then pushed his way in. He froze at the entrance, door held wide open. The second most dangerous person in the realm (less dangerous than an angry and free Ganondorf but more dangerous than Islip, Heydron, or any of the Elites) was sitting with her legs crossed on one of the wooden benches in the foyer of the Keep.

Quentin collected himself immediately. "Master Impa," he said in a forced casual tone. "What a pleasant surprise. To what do we owe the visit?"

The Sheikah gave Quentin her bone-chilling stare. Her eyes reminded him of death. Of all the warriors Quentin had met, all the soldiers he'd squared off against, not one of them, not even Simon Islip, had such dangerous looking eyes.

"Save your forked tongue for your circus act," Impa said coldly. She rose to her feet and put her hands on her hips. Quentin did not miss that she was carrying her favorite short curved blade. "I will speak and you will listen," she commanded.

Had it been anyone else speaking to him Quentin may have come back with a relatively witty retort, or even rolled his eyes. With a Sheikah - this Sheikah - he knew better.

"I was asked by the Princess to be one of her witnesses but I have declined. I declined because it does not matter if you win this trial." She took a step forward, eyes penetrating through to Quentin's soul. He could not retreat backwards without going outside the Keep and letting the door swing shut.

"If you win, Ganondorf WILL destroy Hyrule," she said. "After ten thousand souls are lost, and the demon you fight to free has covered your hands in the soot of his sins, the sages will defeat him again. And this time, we will not return to the past in a vain attempt to save lives."

Quentin didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, stammered briefly, then closed it. _What do you say to that?_ he wondered.

Pleased with herself the Sheikah took another step closer, this time forcing Quentin to back out the doorway so she could leave. She stopped when they were both standing outside and the door slammed shut behind them. They were standing very close, so close Quentin could smell the polish on the woman's breastplate. Impa stood nearly six inches taller than Quentin so that he was staring directly ahead at her exposed collarbone and thin but muscular neck.

"But just to add to that creature's torment," Impa said. "Why don't you let him know that the first witness tomorrow morning is going to be an old friend of his. A woman named Nabooru." With that she descended the couple of stone steps that led up to the Keep and headed for the city streets.

"That's a charming perfume, Master Impa," Quentin called when the woman was far enough away that he dared be courageous. With a snort the woman carried herself away.

"How that woman stirs my loins," Quentin joked aloud. Of course, not loud enough that he might risk Impa hearing him. He glanced up at the gargoyle's who had been eavesdropping on his conversation. "What are you looking at?"

* * *

"There he is!" he could hear Ganondorf cry. Quentin was still descending the last few cursed steps towards the Witch Pen. As usual the sound of his cane clicking against the cold stone had given him away.

"You sound like you're in a good mood," Quentin called back as he met the last of his stair-shaped foes. Collecting himself he rounded the corner and found Spade and Ganondorf standing close to the bars, as if they were friends.

"You're squire here told me about today's success!" Ganondorf cheered. Spade was beaming, delighted to be referred to as something as glorious as a squire. Quentin didn't have the heart to correct him. "To think that dull-witted boulder actually picked you up in front of the court and shook you like a doll! Bahahaha!"

That laugh was still not a good laugh, Quentin reaffirmed.

"He could not have been more helpful to our case," Quentin said while dropping himself onto his stool. "The judges dare not accept the testimony of such a violent witness, King or otherwise."

Ganondorf wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Oh, Quentin, I wish I could have seen that. Did Simon really break a spear over the fool's head?"

Quentin nodded then grimaced as Ganondorf erupted into laughter. After patiently waiting for the terrible noise to subside Quentin cleared his throat and spoke.

"We can't expect tomorrow to go as well for us," Quentin warned. "They aren't going to make the same mistakes twice, meaning they won't bring forth any more witnesses unless they're confident in their testimonies." Quentin decided not to tell Ganondorf about the King's attendance tomorrow. Hopefully he wouldn't need to summon Ganondorf at all and the whole trial could end without incident.

"Luckily I was fortunate to have a meeting with the lovely Impa, who gave us the name of the next witness."

"Ugh," Ganondorf groaned. "What did that bitch have to say?"

"Very little," Quentin said, "but she did give us a name. Do you know a woman named, Nabooru?"

As their eardrums threatened to rupture, Quentin and Spade stumbled backwards in fear.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Another short chapter, sorry about that. This isn't the best written chapter of the story but I hope it was bearable. I'll go back and flesh it out soon. But Nabooru is our next witness =D I've been looking forward to writing her chapter since this story was conceived. . Let me know what you guys think, PM or review!**

 **Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 8

Anxiously Quentin gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

"She knows me," Ganondorf had warned.

Quentin glanced at his fidgeting assistant. The boy was messing with his new shoes, the ones Quentin had given in and finally purchased for the lad. With the King and royal court in attendance an even larger pilgrimage of nobles and dignitaries would want to be sure their faces were seen. Quentin Massys could not allow his assistant to be seen in a pair of filthy, worn moccasins.

Spade sensed his master's eyes so he slowly sat back in his chair and set his hands in his lap. Without chalant he glanced at his employer. Lord Massys did not look half as confident as he had the previous day. He didn't look annoyed or in pain either. Nervous, Spade decided, nervous and afraid. That's how Lord Massys looked.

"She knows my parents," Ganondorf had warned.

Spade wondered what his boss and Ganondorf had talked about after he'd been shooed away. Last Spade had seen of him, the General had been livid.

"Uh, Massys?"

"Hmm?"

Spade shifted in his seat. "Are you going to need me to run back to the Keep at all since we know who the first witness is?"

Quentin ceased his nervous ticking and let out a short sigh. "Yes, Spade. Probably many times for the same witness."

"But weren't you talking with Master Ganondorf all night?"

Patiently Quentin interlocked his fingers over his cane and turned in his seat to face the boy.

"You're a smart lad, Spade, otherwise I'd have fired you a long time ago." Spade blushed while Quentin continued. "So I want you to tell me something. Why did we do so well yesterday?"

Reluctant to answer poorly after receiving a rare bit of praise, Spade took a moment and scratched his pubescent chin.

"Well. . ." he said dragging the word out to buy himself more time. "The forest girl left crying so it looked like she was too much of a baby to be taken seriously."

Quentin chuckled softly. "Uh huh, and?"

"And King Darunia attacked you so he looked too violent to be trusted."

"Ah!" Quentin clapped his hands and cane together. "Exactly! We refuted their witnesses. And since this case relies entirely on testimony. . ."

"Um. . . no witnesses means no case?" Spade answered questioningly.

Quentin snorted. "More or less, yes."

Spade nodded to himself. "But what does that have to do with this next witness? Can't you 'refute' her?"

Quentin shook his index finger. "Ahh but Archbishop Islip was on to us, this one won't be so easy." He returned his hands to their interlocked position resting on his cane. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming through the main doors to ruin his narrative.

"One of our greatest advantages has been the mystery behind Ganondorf himself," Quentin explained. "Nobody knows him. Nobody knows what he does in his free time, what he likes, dislikes, or what his goals or ambitions are. Not a single person even knew he existed until he arrived one day to save us during the war. He's made himself a private man who, on the surface, has but one desire: uncompromising devotion to Hyrule and King Harkinian. Besides his little scuff with the guards who arrested him, there is nothing to refute.

"But!" Quentin continued, "this next witness knows him. She was close to him and knows all his childhood sins and secrets."

Spade felt as though he was getting it. "But has Ganondorf done anything that would refut. . . iate him?"

Quentin touched his crooked nose. "You don't become an indomitable warrior like that without bloodshed in your past. So every story she tells, and I'm sure the court will ask her to tell many, I will need you to recite to General Ganondorf and have him give you as much information as possible as quick as possible."

Spade nodded then scratched his head. "But what if General Ganondorf wants to come speak for himself like he was saying yesterday?"

"Spade." The boy flinched as Quentin practically lunged forward and grabbed his shoulders. "Under no circumstances," Quentin said, his face only inches from the boy's. "Under no circumstances will you tell the guards to bring Ganondorf or insinuate that he is to come speak for himself. Do you understand?"

Before Spade could answer a court page blew on his trumpet causing more than a few people to jump.

"Announcing the arrival of the sovereign King Harkinian and Princess Zelda."

Everyone rose from their seats immediately as the door behind the balcony opened up. King Harkinian, garbed in his fine silk clothes and velvet cape, stepped through the portal and to the edge of the balcony. He stood there without saying anything while the rest of his entourage filed through the door behind him.

Quentin had been addressed by the King multiple times in his career so he was not as impressed as Spade. He was even less impressed due to his time as a soldier. With a quick glance to the side he wondered if Simon Islip felt the same way. As always the man's face was a mask of virtue with shark eyes peering from behind.

The King had soft eyes. Soft dark blue eyes that would rather be watching his favorite hound nursing her new litter than watching this trial. Everything about the King was too soft for Quentin. Once, after kneeling to kiss the crest the King wore on his finger, young Massys had made a mental note that the King's hands were far too soft and pink to have ever held a weapon in battle. There had been faint ink stains, and even a scar from when one of his dogs were rough-housing with him, but no callouses that came with working a blade. It came as no surprise that the King, a man who inherited a kingdom that hadn't seen war for three generations, made for a terrible Commander in Chief.

His tactics had lacked any sort of aggression on the battlefield. He had proposed many half-measures, insisting that Hyrule could win the war against the Gerudo by winning their hearts, then their minds. More than half of the royal army had been obliterated by full measures of the Desert People without hearts.

When the Royal army took Gerudo soldiers prisoner, the King's law demanded that they be treated fairly, fed three times a day, and protected from the elements. Most of the prisoners ended up being released back to the Gerudo for one reason or another. Since interrogation/torture was forbidden by everyone except the Church, hardly any important information could be gleamed from them anyway.

It was a different story when the Gerudo took a Hyrulean captive, IF they bothered to take prisoners at all. The few men who survived the desert prison camps were covered head-to-toe in cuts and burns. Toe nails and fingernails were ripped off, eyeballs plucked out, digits dismembered. The survivors couldn't even speak of the horrors they'd experienced, mostly because every single one of them had their tongues cut out. If the Hyrulean gave into the torture and offered information their tongues were cut for being weak. If the Hyrulean somehow managed to withstand the torture and say nothing, their tongues were cut as punishment.

The kingdom had learned about this sort of savage treatment early in the war. Yet the King did nothing to answer the insult his people had suffered. Still, Quentin could have forgiven him for that and continued to respect him. Better a gentle soul than a tyrant, right? But then, shortly after being maimed that fateful day on the caravan, he had witnessed his first trial. The soft, pudgy King who dare not torture an enemy combatant, was willing to allow and condone the nobles of his realm and the Church to "interrogate" his own serfs and peasants to elicit a confession for a crime they had obviously never committed.

Quentin realized that his contempt for the Church, nobles, and even the crown was why he held Ganondorf in such high esteem. Yes, the man had been brutal on the battlefield but his final measures likely guaranteed another two generations of peace. And when the war was over it was clear that Ganondorf did not buy into the idea of nobility. Every man and woman should be measured by his/her own ability, according to the General, not their lineage.

"A slave with a well placed knife can shed a king's blood as well any," he'd once said to the court.

The General found the going-ons of the court to be too boring to participate or correct but his words had struck a chord in Quentin. It had dawned on Quentin the night Micah told him his new client was Ganondorf that the General played a part in why Quentin did what he did. Why he became the "impoverished, crippled, rag-doll, champion of the law, lord".

Murmurs from the crowd pulled Quentin out of his own head and back to the present moment. Beside the less than impressive King stood his daughter, the Princess.

"Wow," Spade said, forgetting his position.

Quentin would have reprimanded the boy but he only barely kept the three letter word from spilling out of his own mouth. The Princess, a girl of eleven years, was practically glowing. _No_ , Quentin decided, _she was glowing_. A radiant golden light was hovering mere centimeters from the girl's pale skin and golden hair. The light blue of her eyes were glowing even brighter against the gold that outlined her.

Quentin shook his head slightly and blinked. He'd seen the Princess before. Even spoken to her once, long before this trial. She'd never once glowed in front of him, had she?

From behind the King, the Queen of Ice, the Banshee of the Battlefield, the undefeated champion of the Sheikah, Impa Malukah stepped out. Everyone ogling the Princess immediately averted their gaze. The Sheikah bodyguard scanned the audience, daring someone to make eye contact with her. Quentin couldn't help but oblige himself. As soon as the Sheikah's red eyes met his he offered her his most lewd wink and smile.

 _Better she not know we're in trouble_ , he said to himself.

Completely out of character, the Sheikah who had more than fifty confirmed kills, pursed her full, red, scarred, lips and blew Quentin a kiss.

 _Fuck_ , Quentin said to himself.

Impa turned and whispered something into the Princess's ear. Zelda's eyes started scanning the floor of the Royal Courtroom until they stopped on Quentin. Recognition then anger danced through her cerulean orbs. Quentin dare not wink at or mock the Princess, lest Impa leap from the balcony and cleave him in two.

" _But make no mistake_ ," Quentin projected his thoughts towards the Princess with all of his might. "Your ludicrous testimony is what brought us here. It's you versus me, girl."

Zelda's head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed.

" _Is it really so ludicrous, Quentin Massys_?"

Quentin's blood ran cold as the foreign voice intruded on his thoughts.

"What?" he asked aloud.

Spade looked up at his master. "Sorry, it's just that the Princess is-"

"Not you," Quentin hushed the boy. He looked around frantically to see where that crisp feminine voice could have come from. There was nobody beside him save for Spade. The two sat just to the left of the center of the courtroom. A few steps to Spade's left were the benches and theater seats that half the lords and ladies of the realm sat on. Far to Quentin's right were the rest. In front of them was an empty, new, podium, a small desk for the scribe, and the raised table where the judges were still standing. There wasn't anyone standing closer than the guards to speak to Quentin.

 _Not enough sleep these past nights_ , Quentin reasoned to himself. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He'd just heard the Princess's voice, but the King and everyone else was taking their seats. The hardest part of the trial was about to begin and he didn't need to waste thoughts on whether or not the Princess was a witch.

As everyone took their seats one of the King's criers began his blusterous announcement about the King's lineage, the King's law, the King's realm, and all that traditional rubbish. As soon as the crier finished, Vice Regent Leopold began his bit.

"Today," the Vice Regent projected, "the twenty-second day of the summer moon, of the year 1314, we announce the recommencing of the trial of Hyrule Kingdom versus Ganondorf no surname."

He went on to explain the trial in a very similar fashion to the previous day.

"Lord Quentin Massys," Archbishop Islip said when the Vice Regent was done. Quentin pulled himself up to his feet and took a step forward. The inside of his cheeks and his leg were burning with pain.

"Do you represent Ganondorf today in front of the Royal Court and His Majesty?" Islip asked.

"I do," he answered. This was now the twentieth time he'd said those words.

"Your client, Ganondorf, stands accused of regicide, attempted murder, treason, and blasphemy."

Quentin glanced up at the balcony while Islip spoke. The King's eyes were elsewhere but the Princess's and the Sheikah's met Quentin's with resolve.

"The punishment for these crimes," Islip continued, "Is execution. How pleads your client?"

"Not guilty," Quentin answered immediately. "On all accounts."

"Very well," Islip responded. "Since this is a continuation of yesterday, opening statements have already been made. We will carry on to the first witness. Please be seated, Lord Massys."

Quentin had expected this. While he would have liked to review Ganondorf's accomplishments with the King in attendance, he knew he'd only be able to pick so many fights today. He had to be sure each one really counted.

"The court's first witness is Nabooru no surname, Gerudo, female, twenty-six years old," Vice Regent read.

The door on the far wall was opened by a guard and the woman Ganondorf had gnashed his teeth about stepped from the inner room. The noble sheep in the room bleated to each other, shocked at how the woman looked. Quentin guessed that Nabooru was about 5'8". She had long, straight, fiery red hair that ran down her neck and over her shoulder in a ponytail. Her eyelids were painted with traditional Gerudo gold paint and her lips were painted white. Her skin, dark and bronze at the same time. What was causing the most uproar was her clothes, or the lack thereof.

She wore an embroidered, white, silk brazier that wrapped around her back and chest, leaving her shoulders and flat stomach naked. Her pantaloons (which some women like Impa wore but were not really common) were fastened well below her navel and were a bright pink color. The pants ended just before the ankles where her feet were covered by pointed toed shoes.

The ladies of the court gasped at the woman's indecency. The happily married lords gasped right alongside their wives. The unhappily married lords and the bachelors chuckled to one another and scooted towards the front of their seats.

"Order," the Vice Regent commanded as the volume of the sheep grew louder.

If the sneering and ogling eyes of the Hyruleans bothered the Gerudo woman, she didn't show it. Actually, in Quentin's opinion, it looked like she enjoyed it. She walked like a temptress, swinging her hips side to side, over to the podium. While she walked she met the eyes of various lords and smiled at them with the perfect teeth of a succubus. When she reached the podium, instead of hiding her figure behind it, she stopped in front of it and propped one elbow on it's flat surface. She leaned to the side allowing her hip to cock out to the side and her hair to dangle over her shoulder in front of her stomach.

Out of the corner of his eye Quentin could see Spade shift uncomfortably in his seat then place his hands in his lap.

"Good grief," Quentin said under his breath. General Carson seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes where they should be. In his frustration he forced himself to go cross-eyed. Even the Vice Regent seemed a little flustered by the Gerudo woman. The judges were, after all, behind her. Only the Archbishop seemed unperturbed by the woman. Sharks are only interested in blood, after all.

The Gerudo harlot set her eyes on Quentin and offered a smile. The crippled lord only snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. Nabooru found the response amusing and giggled quietly. Despite himself Quentin felt the back of his neck turn warm.

"Lady Nabooru," Islip said. "Please tell the court your testimony."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at the Archbishop. "Of course Simon. Where should I start?" she turned and focused on Quentin. "Should I repeat the same story you've heard three times now? The one where Ganondorf ruins the future and enslaves the kingdom for seven years while sitting comfortably in his floating black castle?" She paused and chuckled to herself.

"No. I'm afraid if you don't believe that story yet, one more account of it isn't going to convince you. Besides," she said still focused on Quentin. It was like she was speaking only to him, and ignoring the rest of the court. It was a little bit unnerving. "I spent almost the entirety of those seven years as a slave, imprisoned in a cell."

"And was it Ganondorf who put you in that cell?" Islip asked.

Without turning to face the bishop, still honed in on Quentin, Nabooru answered, "No, it was his parents."

"She knows my parents," Ganondorf had warned the night before.

"Dammit," Quentin swore under his breath.

"My testimony is about what Ganondorf will do. Instead, I think the court should know more about who he is, and what he's done. Then I leave it to you and the other witnesses to decided if he is a man capable of what the Princess has accused him of."

Quentin glanced up at the Princess. Princess Zelda wore a determined expression. The Sheikah behind her wore a confident one.

"Please go ahead with your testimony," Islip prompted. He too wore a thin confident smile. Whatever she was about to say, Simon Islip had already heard it.

"Ganondorf and I grew up together," Nabooru started after a nod. She was still leaning comfortably against the podium and looked like she had no intention of moving. Unlike most everyone in the room, Quentin's eyes were not pulled to the woman's body. He was as locked onto her eyes as she was to his. He needed to hear every word she said. He needed to find a way to beat her.

"I met Ganondorf when I was eight, six years before the war. He was fourteen at the time. He was the infamous bastard of our village. Since he lived with two women nobody knew who his father was. Everyone believed he'd be spawned by witchcraft." The way she said it made Quentin believe that she too thought he'd been created by magic.

"Everyone's superstition and fear made him a lot of enemies. The other boys in the village were always starting fights with him. Fortunately for him, Ganondorf was never weak. Even outnumbered four-to-one Ganondorf would hold his own in street fights. As he became more and more confident in his ability he started looking for fights. That's how he found me. I was being beat by my caretaker, a man I had no relation to yet had found myself living under." Even as her story turned personal she spoke in an uncaring, factual voice. As if she were reciting an inconsequential day's events.

 _This bitch is good_ , Quentin thought to himself.

"Even though he was a full grown man Ganondorf thrashed him, murdered him, and insisted I come live with him."

"Objection!" Quentin cried. "Your witness casually claims that my client committed murder without any evidence."

"Should I say it less casually?" Nabooru asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"Do you have any evidence to offer the court about your claim?" the Vice Regent asked.

Nabooru raised her index finger and its painted nail. "I do, but I accidentally got ahead of myself. The murder doesn't happen until much later."

Quentin smirked confidently as Islip furrowed his brow. "Please, Lady Nabooru, continue in chronological order."

"Of course, Simon," she said. "Ganondorf thrashed him, insisted I come live with him and his witch mothers, raped me, _then_ murdered my caretaker."

The room was silent. Nabooru was staring hard at Quentin. Massys racked his brain. He could object again but how do you ask a woman to prove she'd been raped years ago? He'd won a case of his own when the court had asked a former client the same thing.

He turned to Spade, who's mouth was open in disbelief.

"Now, Spade."

The boy nodded his head quickly and leapt from his seat. Quentin turned back to the Gerudo woman who was about to put his client on tomorrow's gallows.

" _Still a ludicrous story_?" the female voice from earlier asked in Quentin's own head.

Slowly he raised his head up to face the balcony. The intensity of the face Quentin was looking at couldn't possibly belong to an eleven year old girl.

" _You believe her, don't you_?" the voice said.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I didn't get to dive as deep into Nabooru's testimony in this chapter as I wanted to but it probably needs its own chapter anyway.**

 **Just as a heads up, I won't be going into detail about Nabooru's rape. This isn't that kind of story and I'm not that kind of author so bear that in mind as you decide whether or not you want to keep reading.  
**

 **Next chapter is going to basically be a short origin story about Nabooru and Ganondorf. It won't be all-inclusive since you could (and many people do) write a whole fanfic based on their history, but it will be the entirety of the next chapter. It should be fun and I'll try to keep it exciting. After that there is only one more witness!**

 **If you have any opinions, advice, or questions feel free to post a review or PM me. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

Shut up! Quentin demanded from the voice in his head. Then, I need to think, he demanded from himself.

The audience was already beginning to murmur to each other. The fact that Nabooru was able to say such a thing so casually and without the waterworks was somehow adding credence to her claim. Quentin swore to himself. He couldn't just stand here stupidly waiting for Spade to return. He needed more information.

Deciding on a new tactic Quentin cleared his throat. "Lady Nabooru," he said in a comforting voice. The Gerudo woman raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for intruding upon your private life, but I'm afraid I must ask you to elucidate." Quentin brought his hand over his heart and bowed his head apologetically. "Nobody should have to relive or retell such an experience except when a man's life is in question."

Nabooru's eyes narrowed suspiciously. She searched Quentin's face for insincerity but found none. This was an easy bluff for the man, because it wasn't a bluff at all. If what the Gerudo woman said was true (Quentin wasn't admitting anything to himself yet less that damned voice speak to him again) then he did truly sympathize with her.

He could vividly remember when he'd brought Ashlynn before the court and asked her to tell everyone that Lord Matrick had raped her. The embarrassment and shame, despite being the victim, had almost caused the poor woman to forfeit her case. Quentin had taken her into the adjacent room and spent nearly an hour coaxing her and convincing her the trial and testimony were necessary.

"Think of the baby," he'd finally said.

Tears streaming down her face Ashlynn clutched her stomach. She had no money and no husband and would soon find herself with a fatherless child to raise. Not really fatherless, Quentin remembered thinking, head and heart full of ill intent. If he'd lost that case Quentin knew he'd have found himself right back in the courtroom - in chains for the murder of Wallace Matrick.

Nabooru turned and looked at Archbishop Islip, then up at the Princess. After a subtle nod from both Nabooru turned back to address the crippled noble.

"Very well, Lord Massys. My caretaker was a man named Lugo," she started. "He ran a stall in Messa, mostly stolen goods that he was fencing."

Quentin had to resist the urge to jump at this bit of information. If Nabooru was raised by a criminal it could build a basis for overthrowing her testimony. But not right now, Quentin needed to commit to the part of the concerned sympathizer. Instead Quentin only nodded and gestured for her to continue.

"Whenever he was selling smaller trinkets Lugo would have me wear the jewelry and initiate conversations with passing young ladies and girls. If I managed to sell some of the jewelry I was rewarded with a treat. If I failed...," Nabooru sucked in air between her teeth. "Well if I failed to sell anything or convince anyone to inspect his wares, I was punished.

"One day I was showing a silver bracelet with tiny rubies embedded in it, to a woman. She asked me if she could lean in for an inspection. Thinking I was about to make a sale I held my arm out for her to inspect." Nabooru tilted her head back and laughed. "The hag snatched the bracelet off my wrist and took off running down the street. I tried to chase her but I lost her almost instantly. I started crying when I thought about returning to Lugo empty handed. That's when Ganondorf found me."

Quentin shifted more of his weight to his good leg. He should have taken a seat before asking her to tell her story. Now it would be rude.

"He'd seen me running and decided to come talk to me when I started crying," Nabooru continued. "He assumed I was crying because the woman had stolen my jewelry. I explained to him that the real reason I was crying was because I didn't want Lugo to whip me.

"'Go back to Lugo,' he said. 'Go back and explain to him what happened. If he doesn't listen and tries to touch you, I'll stop him.' He said it so confidently that I had no reason to doubt him. I went back to Lugo and tried to explain what happened. He, of course, didn't listen and raised his whip at me.

"Even as I raised my arms to defend myself Ganondorf tackled the man. Despite being twice the boy's size Lugo was knocked over and buried under a barrage of Ganondorf's fists."

"And then you moved in with Ganondorf?" Quentin interrupted. His leg was killing him and Nabooru was proving to be quite the long-winded storyteller. "I mean, with your caretaker righteously beaten and embarrassed you couldn't very well stay with him, correct?"

Nabooru nodded. "Correct. Ganondorf insisted I live under his protection. As an eight year old girl alone in Messa I didn't have many other options."

"Of course," Quentin said with a nod of his head. "So you moved in with Ganondorf and - how did you put it - his witch mother?"

"Motherssss," Nabooru corrected.

Confused whispers hissed through the audience. Quentin too feigned confusion even though Ganondorf had confided as much in him the previous night.

"Mothers?" Quentin asked. "Surely only one of them was biologically inclined to carry that title."

Nabooru shrugged. "Both Koume and Kotake claim to have contributed to his birth."

Quentin contemplated pressing the issue but decided against it. He could always come back to it later he reasoned.

"Do continue, Lady Nabooru," the Vice Regent insisted. It seemed that he, like Quentin, was bracing for the part where Ganondorf allegedly raped the woman before them.

With a curtsy for the judge Nabooru continued. She went on to tell several more stories about her time with Ganondorf and what she witnessed during her time with the witches. Most of the stories portrayed Ganondorf as a very violent, arrogant young man whose only loyalties were to his mothers and Nabooru.

Whenever Nabooru mentioned spell weaving or black magic cast by the witches, more than a few in the audience would draw a triangle over their hearts. As if such a stupid motion would protect someone from the very real dangers of magic.

The trend in the Gerudo woman's stories was that as Ganondorf got older the other Gerudo men liked him less and less. And Ganondorf would meet their hate with spite of his own. Nabooru also went on to went on to describe when and how Ganondorf started his own spell-weaving. Supposedly their was a shift in the young man's relationship with his mothers as they realized just how powerful their son was.

As much as he wanted to, Quentin knew he couldn't argue these claims. He wasn't the only person who'd seen Ganondorf cast magic. If he demanded evidence of Ganondorf's spell-weaving Islip would probably bring out a dozen witnesses. The real question, when the time came, would be whether Ganondorf's magic was authorized or not.

What is taking that boy so long? Quentin wondered. Spade had yet to return, and his absence was now longer than any of the previous times.

"And that was when I started distancing myself from the man," Nabooru was saying. "The war was now two years old and Ganondorf was becoming unpredictable. One morning he asked me to follow him through the desert, halfway to Hara, to some abandoned temple his mothers spoke of. Strangely enough he insisted that we had to sneak past his mothers to get there. Apparently they'd hidden a treasure there, something they didn't want him to have."

"Do you know what that treasure was?" Quentin asked.

Nabooru nodded. "I do. It is a pair of magical gauntlets which grant their wearer superhuman strength."

Quentin glanced from Nabooru to the judges skeptically. He coughed lightly into his arm then asked, "So the two of you retrieved these magical gloves?"

A shake of her head. "No, Lord Massys. This is where I got raped."

Quentin tightened his grip on his cane.

"Again, Lady Nabooru, you'll have to forgive -"

"Ahh save it," she cut him off. "Once we were isolated in the temple Ganondorf cast a spell on me and raped me," Nabooru practically hissed. "And the moment the spell wore off I attacked him then managed to flee."

Quentin opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He scratched the top of this cane with his index finger and stared hard at the woman in front of him. She certainly didn't look or sound like she was lying.

"Can you describe the spell he used on you?" Quentin dared to ask. He knew he would have to start shedding this skin that portrayed him as a man with a soul. This woman's testimony could, after all, be the one that put his client on the gallows.

The corner of Nabooru's lips lifted into a snarl. She no longer looked like a seductress, but instead a viper ready to strike out with fang and venom.

"He took control of my body," she said slowly. "Even moved my limbs without my command. Sealed my tongue so I couldn't speak out and forced me to lay with him!"

"And what did he do when it was over?" Quentin asked without missing a beat.

"He had the nerve to act surprised that I was angry," she howled. "As though it should be acceptable for him to do as he pleases."

Quentin chewed on the inside of his lip. There was something there, he knew. Something was wrong with her story, he just couldn't put his finger on it yet.

"So after you fled he went back and killed Lugo after all those years?" Quentin asked.

Nabooru held Quentin's gaze, exhaled a couple times, then smiled.

"Yes, but not in such a hasty manner. May I ask you a question, Lord Massys?"

Quentin furrowed his brow slightly. "It would be irregular," he answered.

Nabooru shrugged just one shoulder, gently allowing herself to return from the viper to the seductress.

"You've been asking so many questions from me, it only seems fair I get to ask you one. Or do you get nervous when girls ask you personal questions?"

A scowl now plain across his face Quentin squared his shoulders. "Ask away."

"What happened to your leg?"

Quentin blinked in surprise. "What?"

Nabooru pointed at the crippled lord's crippled leg.

"Your leg, Lord Massys, what happened to it?"

"I. . . uh," Quentin stuttered flustered by the unexpected question. "That's not really relevant to this case or trial," he answered finally managing to regain his composure.

"A Gerudo did that during the war, correct?" She didn't say it as though she were taunting him but Quentin couldn't imagine what other intentions she could have.

He cleared his throat and tried his best to answer nonchalant. "Yes," he said with more chalant than he'd wanted. "Towards the end of the war, yes."

Nabooru nodded. "My people crippled and killed many Hyruleans."

"Blood was spilled on both sides," Quentin said briskly.

Nabooru nodded again. "Do you know how much Gerudo blood was spilled at the end of the war?" she asked.

Quentin realized where she was headed with this. "I do," he said quietly.

"Four million men, children, and baby boys."

The sheeple bleated in confusion and shock. The guards moved preemptively to keep everyone quiet even before Leopold could raise his gavel.

"Ganondorf returned to the Gerudo Dessert and killed EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. MALE."

The guards were too a piss poor job keeping the crowd under control. Quentin glanced up at the balcony to see if the King was still up there. Wisely he had found a moment slip out. Meanwhile lords were shouting their objections at the Gerudo woman demanding she quiet her proposterous lies. She did not.

"That, Lord Massys, is when Ganondorf murdered my caretaker. Stand here and tell me that a man who can kill FOUR MILLION people with magic doesn't have the darkness in his heart for treason."

"ORDER!" the Vice Regent was on his feet now, veins protruding from his forehead as he silenced the crowd.

Quentin said nothing while the crowd settled back into their seats. He knew what she said was true. Actually, everyone in the room knew what she said was true. Desperate to end the war without anymore Hyrulean casualties the King had been open to suggestions. Ganondorf, with more than enough darkness in his heart for genocide, came to the King and asked for his blessing. Although the answer probably haunts the King to this day, (and especially today) King Harkinian said yes and blessed Ganondorf's crusade. The lords and ladies of Hyrule are still reluctant to admit that their peace came at the price of the annihilation of an entire race. It was completely possible, even likely, that Ganondorf was the last living Gerudo male.

The double doors could not have been parted at a better time. Spade, winded, sweaty, and red in the face had one hand resting on the frame with a sweaty folded piece of paper clenched in his other hand.

"Ahh," Quentin said thanking his non-existent gods. "I would like to take this time to confer with my assistant, as I was promised I would be allowed."

The Vice Regent nodded. "While you do that the judges and Lady Nabooru will be stepping out for a brief recess."

Quentin bowed and hurried over to Spade and their seats.

"About time, boy," he said patting Spade on his shoulder and practically ripping the paper from the boy's hand.

"What did he say?" Quentin asked as he started to unfold/uncrumple the parchment.

"He's *huff* not happy," Spade managed.

Of course not, Quentin said to himself.

He finished unfolding the paper and read the words quickly, hungry for answers.

He read them once. Twice. And a third time to be sure.

He couldn't, for the life of him, keep the smile from spreading across his face.

"Spade," he said in a low deep voice.

"Yea?"

A shudder went down the boy's spine as his master eerily turned his head and smiled at the boy, a crazed look in his eyes.

"There's a price, but we can beat this witness and win the case."

Spade didn't like his boss's face in that moment. "What's the price?

"Our souls," Quentin answered. "It's a damn good thing Hell isn't real."

* * *

 **Author's Note: We are winding down with Nabooru and there's only one witness left.**


	10. Chapter 10

Nabooru followed the three judges into the small room and shut the door behind her.

"You stupid bitch!" General Carson shouted when the door was closed.

Nabooru crossed her arms and frowned at the sad excuse of a military officer.

Carson's round face was turning red as he failed to control his rage. "We specifically said you couldn't mention the fucking genocide!" His hands were balled into fists at his sides. Nabooru didn't budge.

"It became relevant to my testimony," the Gerudo offered with a shrug.

General Carson couldn't handle her insolence anymore. He stomped forward raising his right hand to punish the woman. Islip snatched his wrist mid flight.

"That'll be enough, General," the Archbishop warned while still holding the man's wrist. Carson clenched his jaw and glared hard at the Archbishop. With a "hmph" he tried to pull his hand back but Islip kept it in his vice-like grip. Simon Islip's eyes bore into the General as if he were daring the man to step out of line one more time.

When it became abundantly clear who was in charge, Archbishop Islip released General Carson's hand and stepped to the side. The General grumbled very quietly to himself and stepped back becoming very interested in a spot on the wall.

Vice Regent Leopold cleared his throat. "You've put our King in a tight spot," he explained to the Gerudo. "Regardless of the relevancy of your testimony, it's now entirely possible His Majesty will throw the trial out and absolve Ganondorf."

"You asked me to convince the court that he's a bastard," Nabooru said losing her collected demeanor. "What better way than to show how much blood has already stained his hands?"

"And what if Quentin comes back and says Ganondorf is suffering from the guilt of obliterating his own people at the request of the King?" Leopold asked.

Nabooru's heart sank. Even though it wasn't true Nabooru realized people could interpret it that way.

Leopold kept pressing, emphasizing the mistake Nabooru had just made. "The people would cry that the King is the real monster, asking a Gerudo man to decimate the Gerudo race. And while Ganondorf was just a volunteer, no less."

"Surely we could prove that he was the one who suggested the genocide to the King, couldn't we?" Nabooru asked. Her voice was starting to dip into an octave of desperation.

Leopold shook his head. "I will deny it openly before I risk undermining the King," he answered.

Nabooru put her hands on her head. "Goddesses," she said. "What have I done?"

General Carson muttered something unintelligible but it was Islip who spoke up.

"I believe your testimony is still salvageable," the Archbishop said confidently. Everyone turned to him anxiously. "I doubt Quentin will pursue the genocide so long as we don't push it any further. He stands in front of the King and court often. He isn't THAT hellbent on making enemies, which is exactly what embarrassing the King would get him." The Vice Regent nodded contemplatively while General Carson went back to inspecting his spot on the wall.

"Furthermore," Islip continued. "Lord Massys has an affinity for women who have suffered at the hands of men."

"Could have fooled me," Nabooru replied with a sneer.

Islip shook his head. "Despite his sacrilege the Goddesses are fighting for the good in his soul." This was a fact to the man, Nabooru realized. Not an opinionated belief. "His conscience will hinder him from continuing to help a man like Ganondorf."

Nabooru let out a sigh. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Spade stared at his employer in disbelief.

"I don't give a damn about the law!" the boy remembered Quentin saying early last year while they were working on a different case. "Everyone, prince and pauper, man and woman, is owed their dignity, freedom, and life."

Quentin Massys had been sitting in his office, surrounded by mountains and piles of books, scrolls, and records Spade had been dragging in all day. "We aren't going to let Lord Matrick get away with rape. He's not slithering out of this one because the law favors men of his position."

That case had been long and grueling, even dangerous at one point. While the case was still in pretrial some of Lord Matrick's squires had been ordered to rough Spade and Quentin up for causing the noble so much trouble. Luckily Spade was a scrapper and Quentin still had the moves from his time as a soldier. The kids had crawled home with black eyes and bruises.

Spade had never been more proud to be Quentin's apprentice. Not because the crippled veteran could still beat up a bunch of adolescents, but because he stood up for himself and his beliefs even when the kingdom was descending on him.

Just like he'd said, Quentin proved he didn't give a damn about the law. He cared about justice. He cared about giving every man in every position a shot at equality. Hadrian's law was just the weapon Quentin wielded to achieve his goal. Spade couldn't think of anything more honorable or respectable than that.

But this, what his employer was about to unleash on the court, was neither honorable nor respectable. Spade struggled with himself whether he should mention his boss's hypocrisy aloud or not. Before he could overcome his trepidation the door at the far end of the court opened and the judges and Gerudo woman returned to the courtroom. Quentin clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together.

"Here we go, Spade," he whispered in excitement. The boy remained quiet.

"All rise!" one of the guards commanded. Everyone duteously rose to their feet, waited for the judges to sit down, then returned to their seats.

Right after he sat down General Carson looked up over his shoulder to see if the King had returned. Wisely, in Quentin's humble opinion, he had not. The Princess and her entourage were still there though. Quentin wanted the Princess there, he wanted her to watch him win.

The Vice Regent clambered back to his feet. "We will now resume Ganondorf's trial." He paused and gestured towards Nabooru. "Does the witness have anything further to add to her testimony?"

Nabooru, now standing behind the podium, shook her head. "I do not." She turned to Quentin and revealed her brilliant white teeth. They appeared even brighter than they should when contrasted to her dark bronze skin and painted lips. "I am ready for the 'Champion of the Law'."

I doubt that, Quentin said to himself. He pulled himself up with his cane then bowed slightly. "I'm not really one for titles, Lady Nabooru, but thank you." Quentin clicked and clacked towards the center of the room while Leopold returned to his seat. The three judges watched Quentin with anticipation.

"You've been brave enough to share your very personal ordeal with us," Quentin said in a calm voice. "So I'll start off simple and easy."

"My favorite kind of men," Nabooru said with a wink.

Quentin offered her a smirk while the sheeple bleated to one another.

 _Joke while you can_ , he thought, _you'll be the second woman to leave here in tears._

"How old are you, Lady Nabooru?"

A well plucked eyebrow was raised. "Twenty-five," she answered. "And the year I met Ganondorf was 1297, in case that's your next question."

Quentin allowed himself a fake chuckle. He was beginning to sense that he was right in his theory. The judges had scolded her for mentioning the end of the Gerudo War, and now everyone was going to pretend nothing had been said. That was fine. It suited Quentin well enough.

"It seems that my client has caused you, more so than any of the other witnesses, a great deal of stress."

Nabooru shrugged. "I was unlucky enough to have the longest exposure to him."

A nod from the Quentin while he lined up his thoughts. "The word 'unlucky' doesn't do you justice. But it IS lucky that Ganondorf forgot how to use that 'control' spell after he left the Gerudo."

Confused, Nabooru furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Well," Quentin started, "you see I've listened to two testimonies now - three if you include the Princess's - and not once does Ganondorf ever try to manipulate or control someone like a puppet as you described." Nabooru's eyes were beginning to narrow in suspicion. Quentin plowed on ahead while he remained planted in the center of the room leaning on his cane.

"If he still remembered how to use that spell I can't imagine he would have wasted so much time or resources allegedly trying to steal artifacts from each of the races of the kingdom. We know for a fact he still had magic at his disposal when he met with the Gorons. And your Kokiri friend claims he was spell-weaving when he met with her talking tree."

Nabooru's eyes widened in realization.

 _It gets better you lying harlot_. Quentin continued quickly before she could interrupt him. "And it seems that he left the Zoras empty handed too without having manipulated anyone." He turned to the three judges. "Can the court provide a second witness who claims to have been 'possessed' by Ganondorf's magic?"

General Carson looked like his blood was boiling and the Archbishop looked strangely confused. Only Vice Regent Leopold could answer.

"The court cannot," he said plainly.

Quentin turned back to his prey. There was no more suspicion or surprise on the Gerudo woman's face. Only rage. Quentin's mask of empathy had been pulled off. He was now, very clearly, her enemy.

"You're accusing me of lying," Nabooru stated.

"I am not," Quentin said while raising his hands up defensively. "I was merely commenting on my client's apparent forgetfulness. But on the subject of the forgotten I cannot help but feel that you are forgetting something in your testimony."

The corner of Nabooru's lip lifted in a snarl.

"What, pray tell, am I forgetting?"

"It's just that, in your testimony you made it seem as though Ganondorf cared only for three people, his two mothers and you." Quentin paused so that everyone, even the most slow witted noble, wouldn't be left behind. "And you lived with him for eight years, putting you at sixteen years of age before you two separated. I was sixteen once, Lady Nabooru. I was sixteen, uncrippled, and in love. Is it possible you weren't entirely clear about your relationship with Ganondorf?"

Nabooru snorted. "I see where you are going. Yes," she answered. "Ganondorf and I were engaged before I left him."

Quentin reared his head in feigned surprise. "Engaged to be married?"

Whispers rifled through the crowd. Nabooru's cheeks turned red out of either anger or embarrassment. Neither really mattered to Quentin.

"Was this engagement also a product of coercion?" he asked.

Nabooru said nothing, only stared at Quentin filling her eyes with as much venom as she could.

"Lady Nabooru," Quentin said in a deep serious voice. "Was your engagement forced?"

Nabooru stayed quiet for a moment longer before finally answering. "No," she said quietly.

"Judges!" Quentin cried triumphantly as he pivoted on his good leg. "According to King Hadrian's law, each race of Hyrule will be allowed to observe their own customs and laws so long as they do not obstruct the rights of Hylian citizens." He had to force himself to taper his excitement and speak slow enough to be understood. "Nine years ago both Ganondorf and Nabooru were Gerudo citizens. According to Gerudo law and custom a man CANNOT rape his fiance or wife because he is legally entitled to the intimacy of her body. Rape between a man and woman, according to Gerudo law, can only occur before the engagement or after a legal divorce process."

The Archbishop looked like he was in shock. His shark eyes practically popping out of his head. Quentin pressed harder.

"Regardless of whether this woman's story about magic manipulation is true, which I doubt, Ganondorf committed no crime against his fiance. Furthermore!" he said now focusing on Vice Regent Leopold, the head of the judges. "to continue with the biased perception that Ganondorf's actions - alleged or otherwise - were barbaric is to officially decry that Gerudo law and custom is barbaric. Ganondorf cannot be judged for this woman's accusations unless the kingdom intends to hold an entire race accountable."

Quentin took a deep breath and waited for the Vice Regent's reaction. The courtroom was silent. The lords and ladies that bore witness were still catching up to what Quentin had said. General Carson was looking to the head judge to offer an answer that no doubt eluded him. Nabooru's gaze was bouncing desperately between the Archbishop and the Vice Regent. Spade was looking at the back of Quentin's head with disgust. Islip still looked surprised and a little bit betrayed.

The Vice Regent met Quentin's eyes, then glanced at Nabooru, Islip, and lastly up at the Princess before turning back to Quentin.

"Lord Massys is correct," he finally said.

"WHAT!?" Nabooru screeched.

"This court may only adhere to Hylian Law," Leopold continued without looking at Nabooru. "And from the time that Ganondorf became a Hylian citizen he was absolved of any Gerudo charges that were not officially brought against him, let alone the observance of actions legal and customary to the Gerudo people."

"WHAT!?" Nabooru screeched again.

"The witness may expand on her testimony if she desires bearing in mind that Hadrian's Law can only govern those Gerudo laws which directly mirror Hylian Law."

Quentin turned to Nabooru expecting her reaction.

"No!" she shouted. "No! Fuck you, Leopold! And fuck you, Simon!" she started to move from behind the podium but the guards were already there. A guard on each side of her grabbed an arm and started pulling her back.

"Guards!" a voice commanded. Everyone tilted their heads back to see the Princess, standing and pointing at Nabooru and the two men. "Unhand her!"

"Yes, Your Highness," they both replied immediately. They took their hands off of her but took the precaution to position themselves between her and the judges' table. Nabooru looked up at the Princess for a couple seconds, took a deep breath, then took a step backwards.

Quentin wished the guards had been thoughtful enough to stand between him and the Gerudo viper. Nabooru spat on Quentin, eliciting a gasp from the audience, then turned and stormed out of the courtroom.

Slowly, dramatically, Quentin grabbed the corner of his blouse and lifted it up to wipe away the glob of projected spittle.

 _Three witnesses_ , he thought to himself triumphantly. _I've flawlessly defeated three of their witnesses._

Confident after his third victory Quentin addressed the judges once more.

"I do hope your next witness has a little more regard for my personal space." There was no keeping the wry grin off his face.

Leopold cleared his throat. "The judges will be taking a short recess."

"Another one?" Quentin asked.

The Vice Regent raised his hand and pointed a finger at Quentin. "Mind yourself," he warned quietly but sternly.

Quentin immediately took a step back then bowed. "Of course, forgive me."

With a call to rise from the guards everyone stood up and the three judges got up to leave. The Archbishop gave Quentin one last look of betrayal before turning away. The judges exited the door on the left, where the last of the witnesses were being kept.

Quentin strutted - as well as a cripple can strut - back to his seat. He was well aware of all the eyes on him and the number of times his name was being whispered.

"We did it, lad," he said putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. Spade surprised Quentin by shrugging away.

"YOU did it," the boy corrected.

"Excuse me?"

Spade spun on his master. "She was raped!" he hissed. "And you made her look like a fool."

"She was lying," Quentin countered, too surprised by his assistant to be angry.

Spade's pimple spotted face scowled. "She wasn't lying," he replied lowering his voice. "Ganondorf told me that he found out it was his mothers controlling her."

Quentin brought his hand to his chin while he listened to his irritated assistant.

"He found out his mothers were trying to sabotage his relationship," Spade continued. "Ganondorf didn't know he raped her until years later and even knowing that he raped her doesn't understand why she was so upset."

"I know," Quentin replied when Spade was done. "He wrote as much in his note. She knows it was Ganondorf's mothers too. But whether he knew it or not doesn't matter since he didn't break the law."

"I don't give a damn about the law," Spade said. With that he crossed his arms and turned away from Quentin. He scooted in his seat until he was as far away from his employer as he could be.

Quentin thought about reaching out and grabbing hold of the boy's ears but he didn't. _He'll understand when he's older_ , Quentin thought.

His victory deflated by Spade's attitude Quentin scanned the room until his eyes brought him up to the balcony. The princess and Impa were gone now too, having slipped out the same time Nabooru did.

 _So much for a royal attendance_ , Quentin thought half hoping the Princess was still listening to his thoughts. _Great King of Evil -three, delusional princess and bloodthirsty Sheik - zero._

* * *

"What the hell was that?" General Carson asked the Vice Regent after the door closed behind them. "You practically handed him the trial!"

"He was right," the Vice Regent replied, not at all perturbed by the General's anger. "Nabooru should have told us they were engaged. And she shouldn't have mentioned the genocide. She cornered herself and Massys capitalized on her mistake."

The irate general turned from the Vice Regent to point an accusing finger at the Archbishop.

"So much for the good in his soul!"

Islip glared at General Carson but had no retort prepared.

General Carson groaned then raised his hands, bringing them back down to slap his sides. "So that's it, we've lost," he said. "Unless Impa changes her mind there's no point in bringing any more witnesses."

"Excuse me," a voice said from behind the three men.

All three turned and found their last witness sitting patiently on his stool.

"I would still like to speak," the boy said.

"Forget about it, kid," General Carson said. "That Quentin bastard will chew you up."

The boy pushed off the stool and adjusted his pointed green hat.

"All the same, sir, I'd like to speak to him."

General Carson looked back at the Vice Regent, then they both looked at the Archbishop. Islip gave both of them a small nod.

"Ah, what the hell, why not?" General Carson asked aloud.

The boy nodded his head in appreciation.

"I doubt I can win back the trial," the boy said, "but I want to at least warn him."

"Warn him?"

The boy looked up at the general. A shiver went down the man's spine as he saw the eyes of, not a child, but a warrior.

"He and I have met before."

* * *

 **Author's Notes: A side of Quentin Massys you might not have been expecting. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Also I love PM's where people try and guess what's going to happen. You're more than welcome to join in on that.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

Quentin tried to read the faces of the judges when they returned from the adjacent chamber. General Carson wore the face of defeated content.

 _He knows General Ganondorf will be wanting his position back_ , Quentin thought smugly.

The Vice Regent gave nothing away beneath the wrinkles and age spots on his face. Quentin hadn't expected an expression anyway.

The Archbishop's lips were pursed in a bitter way. For what may have been the first time since this trial Islip did not try to stare Quentin down as he entered.

"The court's next witness," Vice Regent Leopold said when he returned to his seat. His face gave no expression but his voice implied that he was done with this trial. For better or worse he'd already made his decision.

"Is Link no surname, Hylian, male, ten years old."

 _Another child? What could they be thinking?_ Quentin wondered.

As the boy was led in by a guard Quentin rose to his feet.

"I was under the impression the court had agreed that no more children should be asked to give unverifiable testimonies," Quentin said pretending to be offended. Honestly if the judges wanted to commit figurative suicide with another terrible witness he couldn't be more delighted.

Archbishop Islip was the one who answered. "The Royal Court only agreed that Lady Saria's testimony would be disregarded." He turned to the scribe. "Is that correct?"

Not expecting to be called upon the young scribe clumsily scrambled through his papers.

"Umm . . . uh . . . y-yes Archbishop," he finally managed. He pulled out the isolated parchment and held it up as though Islip were going to read the tiny writing from so far away.

Islip nodded at the boy then turned back to Quentin. "Impressions are not always accurate, Lord Massys. Thank the Goddesses for the diligence of our young scribe."

Quentin blinked in surprise. He had never heard the Archbishop use that tone before.

 _I must really be getting to him,_ Quentin thought with pride.

"Thank you," Quentin offered to the scribe.

The boy nodded embarrassedly then addressed the unorganized pile of papers he'd just created.

Quentin returned to his seat and looked at the child the judges had brought forth. The boy had walked up to the podium but looked confused by the height of the object. He let out a quiet frustrated sigh then found the stool that had been placed there the previous day for Saria. The boy was dressed in a very similar fashion as the Kokiri girl. He was sporting a green tunic and green pointed hat. Though unlike Saria this boy wore leather boots and a leather belt. He was obviously Hylian too. His hair was so blonde it practically looked yellow. His skin was a fair pale color and his ears were sharp and pointed. Proof that Hylian ancestors hadn't mixed with any mundane humans.

"Should I go tell General Ganondorf?" Spade asked from the side.

"Not just yet," Quentin answered. "Let's hear what he has to say first."

Archbishop Islip addressed the boy. "Master Link, would you please share with the court your testimony?"

The boy nodded then turned to Quentin.

A chill went down Quentin's spine. The boy had a young round face still full of baby fat, but his eyes. . . his eyes were slightly sunken into his face making them appear older. There were stress lines and bags under both eyes and the blue, which might have been a handsome sapphire blue once upon a time, were now a dark and murky blue. The sort of blue that reminds you of the sea hiding a monster in its depths.

"You recognize a warrior when you see one, yes?" Islip had asked two days ago while Quentin had been studying beneath the Temple of Time.

"Tomorrow you will meet one. You'll meet a warrior whose eyes are still clouded by the blood of his enemies, and the scenes he's had to endure. The warrior is dressed as a child in green from the forest," Quentin remembered Islip saying.

 _The eyes of a rueful soldier, sitting there in the face of an infant,_ Quentin thought.

"Lord Massys, right?" the boy asked in a voice that most definitely belonged to a ten year old boy.

Quentin nodded but did not rise from his seat. "Aye lad, I am occasionally referred to as, Lord Massys."

"Well, Lord Massys, I hope you'll forgive me in advance for any curt responses. This is all a little too formal for me."

"No offense will be taken, Link. At least not on my part."

"Right, it's his holiness that we have to worry about."

Quentin smirked. He kind of liked this kid. He reminded Quentin of Spade in spirit.

Archbishop cleared his throat as the chuckles from the audience were becoming too noticeable.

"He's not so bad," Quentin offered with a shrug deciding to play on the lightened mood. "He DID save me from an enraged Goron."

"Master Link," Islip said quickly. "Do begin with your testimony, please."

Link nodded again.

"I'm afraid my testimony is fairly short. I've nothing to add that the court has not already heard from Princess Zelda, Saria, Brother Darunia, or Nabooru. In fact, I don't even have an tragic backstory like Nabooru. I suffered far less at the hands of Ganondorf than anyone else. I didn't volunteer to give my testimony so I could bore the Royal Court with a fifth rendition of an unbelievable tale." Link looked directly at Quentin as he spoke. "I came to talk with you, Lord Massys."

Quentin stared back at the boy taking the extra precaution to keep his face blank. What sort of trick was this? This boy, Link, was the most influental person in everyone's testimonies. If he kept to everyone else's stories he should have been the champion to go one on one against General Ganondorf. Yet he was offering nothing new in his testimony?

Quentin turned to the Vice Regent. "If your witness has nothing new to add, may I address him?" he asked.

Vice Regent Leopold nodded and gestured with his hand for Quentin to approach.

With a grunt Quentin pulled himself to his feet and clicked his cane as he walked over towards the podium.

"And what did you want to talk about, Link?" Quentin asked.

"About the last time we met," Link answered evenly.

That caught Quentin off guard. He furrowed his brow and took a moment to rack his brain for any memories of this boy.

"I'm afraid I don't remember our last meeting," Quentin said when nothing surfaced.

"It was a dark and gloomy Tuesday, over on the eastern side of the city. I ran into you just outside a floor level apartment on Ithica Street,"

Quentin shook his head. "Aye that's where I live but I have no memory of a blonde Hylian boy running into me."

"You wouldn't remember," Link said, a dead-serious look on his boyish face. "because it hasn't happened yet."

"Oh," Quentin said wondering if it would be appropriate to roll his eyes in front of the court.

"And you were a ReDead."

Quentin hated that the confused mutters of the sheeple were echoed inside his own head.

"A what?" he asked with a sideways glance at the judges. Was this their plan? he wondered. To spoil his victory by sending this child to make him out as a fool?

"A ReDead," Link answered without skipping a beat. "It's the end result when a sorcerer pulls the life energy from someone. ReDeads are still alive but their minds are so far gone they can only function within the most basic parameters. Walking, moaning," he paused as his voice caught before his last word. "and eating." Link cleared his throat.

"I met you as a ReDead outside your home seven years from now."

"And how did I look?" Quentin asked mockingly.

The boy didn't scoff, frown, or offer any indignation at all. He only looked sad. Sad and tired.

"You'd probably been a ReDead for a few years when I found you," Link answered solemnly. "Your skin was rotting, most of your teeth had fallen out. But I recognized you because of your leg." Link gestured toward Quentin's cane with a small movement of his hand. "Most ReDeads could walk on two legs. But the one outside that apartment on Ithica Street dragged a leg behind it while it moved."

"So in seven years I'm still out of luck with the ladies?" Quentin asked.

Link searched Quentin's eyes, brow furrowed. Quentin was counting down the seconds until he got his enraged outburst.

But there was no enraged outburst. After a couple seconds of searching Quentin's face the boy let a smile creep onto his face.

"No, I'm afraid not," Link answered jovially. "But if finding a wife is your goal, you may want to stop sending women out of the courtroom crying."

 _You'll have to push him a little harder,_ Quentin said to himself.

The crippled rag-doll lord bowed to the young Hylian.

"Wise advice from the Hero of Time."

"Ha!" the boy laughed. "That title does not fit me any more than 'Champion of the Law' fits you."

"Oh?" Quentin asked. "Did you not travel seven years into the future and back?"

The boy's face was still relaxed but his eyes were aflame.

"It is not the 'Time' bit that doesn't sit well with me. It's the 'Hero' bit." The boy broke his eye contact with Quentin and looked down at this surface of the podium. He brought his hands to his head and grabbed at his hat and golden locks that spilled underneath.

"Everyone died, Lord Massys," the boy said in a frail far-away voice. "The boys and girls of Castletown, the elders, the nobles, the peasants, everyone died. Some of them fled to Kakoriko Village but most of them died while I was traveling through time." His voice began to shake slightly. "Hundreds of thousands of people died while I was sealed away in the Sacred Realm yet the Princess and the Sages called me the Hero of Time because I killed a couple monsters."

"No," Link looked up at Quentin again, tears brimming around his sunken aged eyes. "No, I'm not a hero until everyone survives the next seven years. That's why we came back. There's no point saving a kingdom if everyone is already dead. No point in being called a hero either."

"And this time," Quentin remembered Impa saying the previous day outside the Keep. "We will not return to the past in a vain attempt to save lives."

 _Are all of them insane?_ Quentin asked himself. _Saria, King Darunia, Nabooru, Impa, Link, and the Princess? For six people to all have identical delusions. . ._

"I know it's hard to believe," Link said when Quentin had been silent for a few seconds too long. "But your client, despite the loyalty you feel you owe him, is the very person who brings death to Hyrule."

Quentin's mind was racing. _What was it about this child that made him believable? No, no, no, no Quentin! This is their plan!_

"Link," Quentin said louder than he meant to as he pulled himself away from his own thoughts. "Do you have any reason to be biased against my client?" He didn't want to look into this kid's eyes anymore and listen about death and destruction. He wanted to be in the court room upholding the law and defending his client.

Link took a moment to scan Quentin's eyes, let out a sigh, then reared his head back fixing his posture.

"Yes, Lord Massys. Your client has tried to kill me on three separate occasions."

"Link," Quentin said taking the tone of an adult who is educating a child. "General Ganondorf is a famous warrior, unrivaled in combat. How did you survive? How did my client allegedly try to kill you?"

"Magic," Link answered immediately.

"Oh?" Quentin asked.

Link nodded. "Black waves of magic spilled from his hand trying to suck my life energy."

A jolt went down Quentin's spine.

"When that didn't work," Link continued, "white orbs of lighting flew at his command."

Screams echoed through Quentin's head. A Gerudo soldier was flailing uncontrollably as his skin was seared and simultaneously torn from his body as one of Ganondorf's orbs of lighting encompassed him. Armor, shields, and prayers to their dessert gods did nothing to protect them from the General's rampage.

The smart ones threw themselves on the blades of Ganondorf's men. The foolish ran. Laughing all the while Ganondorf had raised his hands above him and seemed to pull the light from the sun itself into his own hands. With a roar he threw his hands forward and hundreds of orbs shot out. There was one for each fleeing Gerudo. Quentin saw, as though he were lying in the grass again Gerudo spear pinning his leg to the Earth, a young Gerudo squire burst into flames as the lightning caught up to him.

"And I won't go into the details of the final moment," Quentin finally heard Link say. The boy had been talking continuously while Quentin had disappeared for a moment. "If you've had trouble believing anything else I've said, you'll never believe Ganon's last stand."

Quentin grunted as the pain in his leg was suddenly unbearable.

"Lord Massys?" Link asked in a voice of concern.

"You're right," Quentin snapped, more out of pain than anything else. "I wouldn't believe it." He turned to the judges.

"Judges, I request that his testimony be removed for the same reason as the Kokiri girls. He is just a child with a child's imagination."

Before the judges could answer Link spoke up. "That is fine," he said. "I just wanted a chance to speak to Lord Massys. I'm going to be very busy after this and I fear I won't get the chance to speak to him again. I withdraw my testimony. Thank you."

Without waiting to be dismissed Link calmly hopped off his stool and started heading for the door.

Quentin's surprise distracted him from his pain.

"Link!" Quentin called as the boy reached the double doors that led to the hall.

The boy turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"What happened after we met?" Quentin asked. "Allegedly in seven years," he added.

The side of the boy's face twitched. "You tried to eat me," he answered. "Then I killed you."

Quentin watched him leave and the double doors swing shut behind him. Slowly, in part due to the pain flaring up in his leg, he turned to the judges.

"Well," he said after a brisk exhale. "I think we're all ready to wrap this up."

Vice Regent Leopold spoke after clearing his throat. "Unless you wish to bring forth any additional witness or evidence the judges will come to a verdict and return shortly."

Quentin bowed as deep as his leg and cane would let him.

"I have no need for additional witnesses and no further evidence to provide other than the lack of damning evidence."

It was a lame ending to what may prove to be his greatest case. But the pain in his leg was getting worse with every second. He would have to send Spade for medicine as soon as the judges stepped out.

General Carson, Vice Regent Leopold, then Archbishop Islip made their way to the side chamber. Archbishop Islip did not meet Quentin's eyes once as he stood and made his way out. The scribe quickly gathered all of his papers then scurried after them. He would be offering his recordings for reference if the Judges so asked.

"Spade," Quentin groaned as he dropped himself onto his seat and began massaging his leg. "I NEED my medicine now. Go lad!"

Despite his recent mood Spade obediently jumped to his feet and took off for the double doors. Not thirty seconds later he returned though.

"Dammit boy I need that medi-" Quentin stopped himself when he saw the bottle in Spade's hand. "Where did you get that?" he asked incredulously.

"The boy in green, Link, was waiting outside. He said to give this to you for your leg," Spade held out the bottle full of thick red liquid.

Quentin wanted to decline, the liquid could be poison or the drug could be a bribe. Either were likely and both were possible but the pain in his leg was enough to make Quentin cry out.

Without so much as a thank you Quentin snatched the bottle from Spade's hand, unscrewed the lid, then poured all of the red liquid down his throat. The stuff was thick like syrup and warm but the relief instant. Quentin almost moaned in pleasure as all pain, not just the pain in what was left of his leg, subsided and washed away.

"Thank you, lad," Quentin offered as the euphoria washed over him. "Where are you going?" he asked when Spade grabbed the empty bottle and took a step towards the door.

"Link asked if I would bring the bottle back to him. He said his glassware was hard to come by and very precious to him."

Quentin waved the boy off and put a hand on his leg. He tested it with some weight but found that the added pressure of standing on it still caused him pain. He would be a cripple for life.

A crippled-rag-doll-poor-noble-champion of the law, he thought.

The door to the side chamber swung open as soon as he finished the thought.

 _A verdict already?_

Every time a verdict was reached this quickly he had lost the case. Every. Single. Time.

"All rise!" a guard commanded.

The judges took their seats with everyone following right after.

Vice Regent Leopold spoke first without wasting any time.

"For the crime of regicide, the Kingdom of Hyrule finds Ganondorf to be . . .

* * *

 **Author's Note: I couldn't resist that cliffhanger. Honestly, I'm not completely happy with how this chapter turned out. There is a lot of potential with Link as a witness. A lot he could say, the stories and points of view I could have him go into, etc. But I didn't go crazy into detail because I'm assuming we've all played the game. You didn't get to chapter 11 of Quentin's story just to hear about the levels in Ocarina of Time that you've beaten a thousand times**

 **Anyway let me know what you guys think.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

Ganondorf paced back and forth.

 _Where's that damned kid?_

This was the longest he'd gone without that pubescent squire running in with a frantic look on his face. He hated to admit it but he was starting to get nervous. When he finally heard steps approaching he practically pressed himself against the bars of his cell. Then he noticed immediately that something was wrong. He quickly stepped away from the bars and took as intimidating a stance as he could. The steps coming down the stairs were even and light. Whenever the squire came he practically sprinted down the stairs. And Quentin could be heard a mile away thanks to his cane.

 _Is it the executioner?_ He wondered. Did Nabooru's lies crucify him after all? Whoever it was they stopped at the bottom of the stairway just outside Ganondorf's vision. Ganondorf waited for thirty seconds and the visitor still did not reveal themselves.

"What, in the name of the Goddesses, could you be waiting for?" he asked annoyed. He'd wanted them to find him standing stoically in the middle of his cell, as if he were unperturbed by his impending sentence.

The most perturbing person of all stepped into the torchlight of the Witch Pen. Ganondorf let out a groan of displeasure.

With a groan Ganondorf said, "And here I was hoping to die without having to see you one more time."

"Ha!" Impa let out a dry laugh. "As if I haven't petitioned to be your executioner and end your life myself."

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you unlock this cell and give it a shot?"

Impa put her hands on her hips, the fingers of her right hand gently brushing the hilt of her sword as though she were tempted.

"Was once not enough for you?" she asked.

Ganondorf uncrossed his arms and balled his fists at his sides. "It was a mistake to go easy on you and your men," he growled.

"And it was a mistake to take you alive!" Impa snapped right back.

Ganondorf's lips began to part into a snarl when it suddenly occurred to him.

"Quentin is winning," he said realizing why the Sheikah seemed especially pissed. The side of Impa's face twitched. Ganondorf threw his head back and laughed victoriously. "You're here because that cripple is winning!"

The Sheikah stood quietly while Ganondorf enjoyed his moment.

"Tell me, Sheikah, what did Nabooru's face look like when he trounced her?"

"Similar to yours when the Hero of Time gutted you," she answered coldly.

The laughing stopped immediately. Ganondorf was still missing essential details about what elapsed in his alternate future.

"Ah, so you know it's true after all," Impa said, a devilish grin creeping onto her face.

"You're one of the sages," Ganondorf stated. He assumed she'd be one from the beginning. Now that she knew, he could be in trouble.

Impa nodded then took a step closer to the cell.  
"All of the sages are awake," she said confidently. "But that's not the best part." She stepped even closer to the cell. "Do you want to know why your magic doesn't work?"

Ganondorf clenched his jaw and said nothing. He desperately wanted to know. Not since he was a child had he been without his spell-weaving.

"When we defeated you in the future," Impa taunted. "Princess Zelda sealed the Triforce, along with your soul, into Betsohahr, the prison inside the Sacred Realm. Your ability to use magic is trapped there, with your soul, where time doesn't matter."

Ganondorf's nostrils flared as the rage built up inside him. He was at an unsurpassable disadvantage. Despite what he'd said to the cripple he knew all along that the Princess's accusations were true. His enemies, the sages, now knew all of his plans better than he did. And he had been only a few days away from putting his plan into motion and murdering the King.

"If Quentin wins," Ganondorf started, a new planning already formulating in his head. "If Quentin wins that means the King will have to admit that his daughter and her bodyguard tricked him into arresting his 'most trusted' general."

Impa narrowed her eyes this time as the cocky smile disappeared.

"He might not have the heart to punish his daughter," Ganondorf continued as the pieces of his new plan were lining up. "But the whole kingdom would think he was a fool if he didn't at least remove the lying Sheikah from his castle. As for the other sages, one is that forest girl, Sarah? If she can't stand up for herself in court I doubt she'll prove to be much of an enemy." He could see the fear growing in Impa's eyes. No doubt she had made the trip down here in an attempt to intimidate him. Maybe try to belittle Quentin's apparent victory. Now she was catching glimpses of her demise.

"Darunia can't be allowed back in the city after attacking a Hylian citizen. The Princess won't be getting much help from the King. That only leaves Nabooru, a Zora, and a Hylian." Ganondorf let out a laugh. "You know, you might have made my mission easier with these accusations."

"Don't forget the Hero of Time," Impa said trying to steal the Gerudo's thunder.

"Oh I haven't forgotten him," Ganondorf growled. "But from the story Quentin told me, the 'hero' is useless until he gets sealed away in the Sacred Realm. The entrance to which I now know is the Temple of Time." Ganondorf spread his arms out wide, triumphantly, as though he had already conquered Hyrule. "You have already lost, Impa Malukah."

Ganondorf could see the woman was grinding her teeth furiously.

"But then again," he taunted, "you are always welcome to open this cell door and take your shot. Save Hyrule all by yourself."

Her expression didn't change but Ganondorf suspected she was tempted. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief however when she turned around without a word. Impa was a difficult opponent on even terms, and here he hadn't eaten or slept in three days.

Impa halted at the staircase as though something suddenly occurred to her. Slowly she looked from the staircase to Ganondorf. There was a sly look on her face but, she said nothing and stepped out of Ganondorf's vision and headed up the stairs. Ganondorf was alone once again, wondering what that look had meant, and why it had sounded like two pairs of feet climbing back up the stairs.

* * *

Simon Islip stormed through the streets in a most un-archbishop-like fashion. He was furious. Beyond furious. He hadn't felt rage like this since the Gerudo War.

"How?" he angrily asked aloud.

A startled passerby flinched at the unexpected question. Simon ignored him and brushed past him.

 _How did Quentin win that case?_ He managed to keep the question inside his head this time. He knew how, he had voted right alongside Leopold and Carson. Quentin had fought brilliantly. He'd kept the focus on the witnesses and their reliability instead of trying to convince anyone of Ganondorf's innocence via material or testimonial evidence.

Simon had been counting on Quentin calling into question Ganondorf's ability to cast spells. Upon hearing that Lord Heydron had knocked Quentin unconscious and that Ganondorf had been moved to the Keep, Simon had sent out summons to call in veterans from the Gerudo War who had seen Ganondorf's spell-weaving first hand. But Quentin only questioned the use of Ganondorf's magic once, the one time Nabooru was the only witness.

He didn't really wonder "how" Quentin won but "why"? Why were the Goddesses allowing their champions, the sages, to be mocked? Simon could feel it in his bones that the Princess was telling the truth. That everyone who'd come forward; Saria, Princess Ruto, King Darunia, Impa, and Nabooru , were all telling the truth. And if they were telling the truth, the greatest tragedy in history was about to befall Hyrule because Simon had had no choice but to agree with the Vice Regent.

 _Because that's how law works, right? Through logic and truth the Goddesses allow their loyal subjects to separate the guilty from the innocent_. That's what Simon believed anyway. Sure his faith had been tested during previous trials (usually the ones where Quentin Massys was representing someone) but Simon had always been able to trust that the Goddesses had a plan. What was the plan this time? Did they want to cover Hyrule in death and ash? Was it possible the citizens of Hyrule had sinned so greatly that this was their judgement day?

Simon looked around. His trudging had brought him to the Market Square. Nobles and vassals alike were milling about from stall to stall. He could hear a merchant hawking his wares, offering a man a discount if the man promised to buy two of whatever he was selling. Two little girls darted past Simon giggling as they chased a terrier around the cobbled streets. One little redheaded girl was bouncing lightly from foot to foot, an innocent smile on her face as she moved to a song that no one else could hear.

 _No,_ Simon decided. Whatever the Goddesses were planning it was not atonement for Hyrule's sin. Simon believed that people were inherently good, and that if people sought the truth, love, and forgiveness of the Goddesses, they could live happy peaceful lives.

That is what Simon was here for, the truth. Walking now, instead of storming, Simon made it through the Market Square and into the Eastern side of Castle Town. Neither the Keep nor the Temple were far away but Simon was not headed for either. He needed advice from someone much wiser and less emotionally compromised than he.

Arriving at his destination he knocked on the door. He always admired that his mentor had chosen to retire in a humble manner and still only a stone's throw away from the Temple of Time. Simon could hear rustling from inside the apartment then moments later the door swung open.

"Simon, my boy!" the old man cried in his deep jolly voice. He threw his arms up and stepped forward to embrace the younger man.

"Master Rauru," Simon said returning the man's hug.

"Come in, lad, and tell this old man to what I owe the pleasure." Rauru held the door open and gestured for Simon to step in.

Simon knocked the dirt off his boots and stepped in. "I'm in dire need of your wisdom right now," Simon said in a somber tone.

Rauru closed the door behind them and reached up to stroke his glorious white muttonchops. "Always so serious, Simon. Well come on. Wisdom is best shared over biscuits and Lon Lon Ranch milk."

During their meal of fresh baked biscuits and a glass of the kingdom's most famous milk Simon told his mentor, the former Archbishop of Hyrule, everything that had happened over the past three days. In turn, his mentor surprised him with completely unexpected news.

"You're the last Sage!?" Simon asked incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me this before the trial?"

Rauru shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The years of retirement had added weight to what had once been a slender frame.

"Well this is embarrassing but, I was under the impression Ganondorf had already been executed," he explained. "I have only been to the Temple and here since we returned from the future."

Simon had to keep his anger from reaching his voice. It would not befit a student or Archbishop to lose his temper.

"So what are you going to do now?" Simon asked calmly. "Master Impa will likely be forced from the castle. King Darunia is forbidden from returning. Saria and Nabooru have disappeared. The Princess has made a fool of herself in the eyes of her father and the kingdom. And Princess Ruto is just a child. You are the only Sage left to stop him."

"He's already been stopped," Rauru said leaning forward in his seat. "Ganondorf's soul is sealed in the Sacred Realm along with his ability to use black magic. That is where I have been these past days. Ganondorf, as mighty a warrior as he is, is only mortal right now."

"So the Hero of Time can defeat him? Now, without waiting seven years?" Simon asked.

Rauru sucked in air between his teeth. "I'm afraid not," he said with a shake of his head. "Young Master Link has the courage, of that I'm sure, but not the strength."

"Then who?" Simon asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Soon Ganondorf will retake his position as General and he'll have an army at his command. Not to mention that whoever goes against him will be guilty of treason and murder in the eyes of the law."

"But not the eyes of the Goddesses," Rauru said leaning even farther forward in his seat.

Simon inhaled deeply as the realization set in. Neither of them spoke. Simon and Rauru sat in silence in the tiny dining room of the small apartment. Here was the chance to spare the entire Kingdom from seven years of hell. Hadn't he volunteered for the Gerudo war for a similar reason? To spare the meek from the harsh realities of war?

"It's as you say," Rauru finally broke the silence. "They will arrest you, and you will hang for murder."

"Then this is goodbye," Simon said rising to his feet. With a grunt Rauru rose as well. "Thank you for the meal, Master Rauru." He bowed deeply, his right hand over his heart. "You have been a far better mentor and friend than I ever deserved."

As he stood back up Rauru, tears welling up in his eyes, grabbed Simon's face and pulled him in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Hyrule has never deserved a hero such as you," Rauru said in a voice full of pain. "Not during the Gerudo War, and not now."

Simon tried to swallow the lump in his throat but obstruction was more stubborn than a crippled noble.

"Thank you," he finally managed. He turned and swept out of the room before his mentor could see the tears propelling down his face. He carried himself out the door and into the street. At a brisk walk he carried himself towards the nearby Temple of Time, where his own humble residence was.

Simon said many prayers during that short walk to the Temple. The first of which was, "Goddesses, please let my sword still hold its edge, and my arm still hold its strength."

* * *

He should be thrilled. He should be ecstatic! He should be dancing down the streets as only a cripple can dance. But Quentin Massys was doing none of those things. He had just won his most high-profile case, yet he was limping down the streets lost in thought.

After the judges had announced that Ganondorf was not guilty, Quentin had immediately dispatched Spade to deliver the news. While Spade ran ahead Quentin stayed behind to further barter with the judges the terms of the rest of Ganondorf's punishment. Since Quentin/Ganondorf had won _contra proferentum_ the initial arrest made by Impa and the Elites was unlawful. After another half hour of arguing his point, Vice Regent Leopold had finally agreed that Ganondorf did not have to serve his time in the pillory or prison BUT he did still have to monetarily pay for the guards he'd injured.

Neither General Carson nor Archbishop Islip had added a single word after the initial verdict. That didn't bother Quentin in the least, although Simon was not usually a sore loser. And Quentin was not usually such a glum winner.

Even though he'd won, Quentin felt something was off. Despite how ludicrous the Princess's testimony was, the more the thought about it the more things started lining up. Ganondorf told Quentin after their initial conversation that he knew nothing about his own "alleged" plans or anything about these testimonies against him. Yet, when Quentin told him there was more than one witness besides the Princess, Ganondorf had immediately assumed there would be six witnesses. Same as the number of sages reported in every testimony.

Between what Ganondorf had said and what Quentin had heard during the trial, he also realized that Ganondorf's knowledge of the Triforce exceeded what it should have been. Nowhere in any of the books in the Temple's library was it written that any one piece of the triangle offered energy that could be used as magic. There was one mention of the whole Triforce being used a wish granter but even that one was obscure. Why did Ganondorf know so much about the Triforce and why had he acted so nonchalant about difficultly acquired knowledge?

Then there was the mention of the "artifacts" in the letters Spade had brought from the Keep during the trial. Ganondorf admitted via his letters that he was in both the forest and mountains, probably the Zora Domain as well, searching for artifacts. Saria and King Darunia had testified that Ganondorf came to them searching for stones which later were revealed to be the keys to opening some secret door. Why would Ganondorf waste time trekking through cursed woods or approaching a king who had already chased him away once just for an artifact. The King did not send him on those quests. The King used Impa as his ambassador to the Gorons and the Zoras. From what he gathered during the trial, Darunia would have had no problem giving the stone to Impa if she had asked.

What the boy Link had said about ReDeads bothered Quentin too. "A ReDead is the end result when a sorcerer pulls the life energy from someone," Link had explained. That lined up too well with how Ganondorf described the basic workings of magic; energy being pulled and bodies only having so much to give.

Quentin scratched his arm as he shuddered at the thought of what a ReDead would look like. Let alone what he would look like as a ReDead.

There was no doubt that Ganondorf had raped Nabooru. Even if it was legal amongst the Gerudo Quentin couldn't get over how barbaric that act was. Now that the case was over and he could risk letting his humanity show, Quentin was more than a little disgusted with himself. But it was balancing the scales wasn't it? The Courts had crucified innocent men. Surely the universe could spare one rapist. Especially since Quentin, and all of Hyrule, owed that man their lives.

"Quentin!"

The voice of his apprentice pulled Quentin from his thoughts. He turned and saw Spade frantically sprinting towards him.

"What is it, lad? Why are you screaming so damned loud?" Quentin asked noticing the looks from the gossiping pissants.

Spade skidded to a halt and immediately dropped his hands to his knees and started gasping for air. Quentin put his hand on the boy's back.

"Breathe, lad. Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait another thirty seconds."

Twenty five seconds later Spade straightened himself and managed words between breaths.

"When I went to tell Ganondorf we'd won. . . I heard someone talking to him. . . and he told her that he knew about the sages. . . and we all made his plan easier and—"

Quentin grabbed the boy by his shoulders. "Spade," he said in his most serious voice. His cane dropped to the street without regard. "You've never lied to me. Now is not the time to start." Spade was already shaking his head no, swearing that he wasn't lying before Quentin even finished.

"Who was he talking to, Spade? Did you see the woman? Was it the Princess?" Quentin asked.

Spade shook his head some more. "It was that lady with white hair. The Princess's bodyguard," he squeaked.

Quentin let go of Spade, eyes suddenly lost on some object far behind Spade or even Castle Town. Quentin sat backwards hitting the ground hard with his rump. If it caused him any pain he didn't show it, not even wincing. Spade was terrified. He'd only seen his master like this once, when he was lost in some memory from the Gerudo War.

"Quentin?" Spade asked tentatively. "Quentin?"

Slowly Quentin turned his head and looked at his cane, a few feet away.

"Hand me my cane, lad," Quentin said in an eerily calm voice.

Spade obeyed immediately and grabbed the cane then helped his master to his feet. Once on his feet Quentin turned and began hobbling towards the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Spade asked.

"To see Micah," Quentin answered without turning his head or looking back. "I need to borrow something."


	13. Chapter 13

"You're free to go, General," the soldier said as he turned the last of the three keys to the Witch Pen.

Taking one last breath to remember the humility he'd suffered over the last three days, Ganondorf walked free of his prison. The soldier stood erect at attention while Ganondorf stepped past him, then turned to lock the empty cell.

"Heydron didn't have the balls to let me out himself, eh?" Ganondorf asked.

The soldier spun around and returned to a position of attention before answering. "I specifically requested the honor, General."

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Oh?" he asked.

Without relaxing his posture the soldier said, "Yes, General. I wanted to personally apologize for the part I played in your arrest. Escorting you through the city and such."

"You're Quentin's friend, aren't you? What's your name?"

The soldier blinked in surprise. "Micah," he answered hesitantly.

The Elite flinched ever so slightly as Ganondorf reached forward and set his massive hand on the man's shoulder. Ganondorf squeezed slightly and looked the soldier square in the eyes.

"Out of respect for Quentin, I will forgive you, Micah." The squeeze became much tighter. "But only this once."

As the massive Gerudo released his grip Micah bowed.

"Thank you, General Ganondorf."

The corner of Ganondorf's mouth tugged upwards in a grin. He would need to flood out the rats in the Elites, and this soldier in front of him was shaping up to be a promising replacement for Heydron.

"So why is the cripple not here to release me himself?" Ganondorf asked expecting to hear the 'click' of Quentin's cane any moment.

"He stayed behind to overthrow the rest of the charges brought against you. I was dispatched immediately after the initial verdict," Micah explained.

Ganondorf shook his head. He still couldn't believe his fortune. _I will rain glory and gold on that man when this is all over_ , he thought. Never in his life had he had a squire, servant, or friend as sharp, devoted, or thorough as this crippled lord.

"Very well. If you see him on your way back to the Castle inform him that I will be at the Temple celebrating our victory."

Micah bowed again. "Yes, General. I will make sure he finds you."

"And one more thing," Ganondorf said remembering that there were still two sages unaccounted for, one of whom was probably a Hylian. "I'll need that sword you've got."

* * *

Simon Islip opened the cherry wood wardrobe that stood quietly in the corner of his study. The hinges creaked unhappily after being neglected for years. This wardrobe had been opened since Simon had taken up residence in the Temple after the Gerudo war. Even in the small amount of light that seeped in through the room's only window, Simon's armor shined.

"Hello, old friend," he said quietly. Slowly he reached out and caressed the breastplate he'd worn into battle countless times. Not even needing the light in the room Simon's fingers found the few dents and divots in the armor. He remembered every blow that had landed. As a young soldier he'd taken each scrape and nick as a personal offense.

It was unusual for armor that had been on the front lines of so many battles to be in such great shape. In Simon's case it was due to his infamous fighting style. Where as most knights and soldiers were brawlers relying on brute strength and forward momentum to overpower their enemies, Simon had adopted a fighting style similar to that of the Gerudo relying heavily on speed, dexterity, and ferocity. But thanks to his incredible strength he was able to bring the best of both styles together. Fast as an arrow and light as a feather, Simon remained untouched in a battle until he landed his own killing blow, often cleaving through his enemy's entire body.

He felt a jolt as his hand slid past his armor and brushed the scabbard of his sword, Trinity. Simon wrapped his fingers around her scabbard and pulled her out of the wardrobe. Too well his arms remembered her weight. Slowly, flipping her over so the hilt rested in his right hand, he pulled the blade free of its sheath. The blade, nearly as long as Simon was tall, was the opposite of Simon's armor. The flat sides of the two handed sword were scarred and scratched from parrying Gerudo scimitars and cutting through Gerudo chain-mail.

The Gerudo fighting style was originally thought to be impossible with anything other than a guandao spear or scimitar. The halberds, mace, and long-swords preferred by the Hyrulean army didn't offer the necessary balance for quick thrusts that turned into sweeping, arching, slashes. With the two-handed sword however, if the wielder had ample arm strength and the patience to learn the necessary footwork, they could surpass typical Gerudo counters with both speed and force. Simon Islip had surpassed nearly every opponent he ever encountered.

Even though he'd never lost a real fight while wielding Trinity, he had been defeated four times. Impa, Heydron, and two Elites he couldn't remember had all defeated him in friendly sparring matches. The victories had been hard earned for his opponents but in the end Simon had to accept defeat.

Simon dropped the sheath and held Trinity in front of him with both hands. There could be no accepting defeat this time. Even though Ganondorf had beaten all four of those people, Simon could not afford to lose a fifth time. Not for the sake of his own life, but for the sake of Hyrule.

"Goddesses give me strength," he prayed aloud for the seventh time. But, as he'd determined when he first volunteered for the Gerudo War, the time for prayers was over. It was time to act. It was time to fulfill his role as a servant of the Goddesses. He had asked them for enough as it was in this life. He was ready to give back to his deities.

Leaving the armor and sheath behind Simon left his study, Trinity lying flat on his shoulder. Each second he spent with her he was remembering her weight more and more. Remembering the lives she'd taken.

 _Just one more_ , he thought. _Take but one more_.

* * *

Quentin hadn't limped around this fast since that day Spade knocked over a wasp nest and the two had fled for their lives. The pain in his knee, a combination of wasp venom and an aggravated combat wound, had been so bad he'd been bedridden for almost a week. Right now he was hoping that red medicine Spade brought him would continue numbing the worst of the pain for a few more minutes. He needed to find Micah.

From where he'd left Spade there were three possible place to find Micah. The castle, the garrison, and his home. Micah lived north of the Castle, in farthest possible corner of the Citadel. He said he preferred the isolation even though that meant living under the shadow of the Citadel's wall for 18 hours of the day. Even if the potion lasted another hour Quentin doubted he would be able to make it all the way there and back.

The castle was actually the most likely place to find the Elite but Quentin was reluctant to return there. He counted himself lucky that he hadn't bumped into the Princess or Impa, especially now that the Sheikah was likely being relieved of her duties and had a grudge against a particularly crippled lord. If he didn't find Micah at the garrison he would send Spade to the castle and hope the boy returned with the Elite before the officials let Ganondorf out of his cell.

Quentin reached up with his free hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was breathing heavier than he had in while but his pace had payed off. The garrison was now in view, its short and wide frame along with the attached stables made it impossible to miss.

Quentin slowed down and took some forced deep breaths. It would do him no good to arrive frantic and panting. After collecting himself he moved forward and knocked on the front door with his cane. After a few seconds the slit in the door slid open so that Quentin was staring at a pair of brown eyes.

"Quentin?" a familiar voice asked.

"Aye," Quentin affirmed wondering whose orbs he was speaking too.

The brown eyes disappeared as the slit closed. Seconds later the door was pulled open. Quentin's tall friend James stood in the doorway, an ear to ear grin ever present on his face.

"I was expecting you to show up," James said gesturing for Quentin to enter.

"Why is that?" Quentin asked stepping into the military building.

Closing the door behind them James narrowed his eyes mischievously.

"To get the keys to the Witch Pen from Lord Heydron," James said as though the whole ordeal were a practical joke being pulled at the Commander's expense.

"Ahhh, right, of course," Quentin bluffed. That was what he ought to be doing anyhow.

He looked around the inside of the Garrison to get his bearings. It hadn't changed much since his time as a soldier. Most of the building was one giant foyer with tables and benches for the soldiers' meals filling the center. There were various doorways along the sides, most of them leading to open berthing rooms where 20 to 50 soldiers would sleep while they were active duty. A few led to storage rooms where the military kept its own emergency supplies in the event of a siege.

The last three remaining doors led to the stables, the armory, and the officers' quarters. Constable Wage and Lord Heydron and his Elites, all of whom were ranking officers, were given rooms here in the garrison, in the castle, and private homes throughout Castle Town if they so desired. Quentin glanced at the door that led to the armory. The only sentry in the entire garrison was placed at the front door, and as luck would have it today's sentry was terrible at his job.

"James," Quentin said realizing he might not need to involve Micah after all. "I don't know if you've heard but Lord Heydron is not my biggest fan at the moment."

James snorted. "No kidding."

"Is there any chance you could let him know I'm here and see if he and Constable Wage won't give you the keys to the Witch Pen?" Quentin asked.

James ran a hand through his curly hair. "Yea, no problem. Just wait right here and I'll be back."

Quentin stayed where he was until James disappeared through the doorway leading to the officers' quarters. Once free of his escort he began clicking and clacking his way towards the armory. While he was formulating a story to tell in case anyone questioned why a crippled veteran who had left the army years ago was snooping through the armory he spotted what he was looking for, discarded on one of the benches by the wall. Quentin cautiously glanced about, marveling at his good fortune.

None of the soldiers in the hall were paying him any mind. Everyone was enjoying their government issued meal and gossiping about what would happen to their chain of command. Quick as a thief Quentin thieved the item he'd come all this way for. Still marveling at his luck Quentin tucked it away, making sure it was concealed within the folds of his cloak.

James returned just as Quentin limped back to the front door where he'd been told to wait.

"Constable Wage and Lord Heydron already gave their keys to Lieutenant Micah," James said oblivious to his friend's stolen treasure. "According to the Commander he left about twenty minutes ago."

Quentin clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Bah! It seems I limped all the way here for nothing."

James shrugged then moved to open the door for Quentin. "Sorry, about that."

Quentin reached up to pat James on his shoulder. "Not your fault," he said then stepped back out into the street.

"Hey if you see the General, put in a good word for me!" James called from the doorway.

Quentin waved his hand over his shoulder without looking back. He was off to the Keep now. Maybe he could catch Ganondorf alone and talk openly with the man before anything got out of hand.

"Quentin!"

Quentin turned to his left to see Micah walking briskly towards him.

"I was just on my way to see you," Quentin said turning to greet his friend. "James told me you took the keys to the Witch Pen."

Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out two of the three keys that belonged to the Witch Pen. "Already let the General out," he said. He shoved the keys back into his pocket. "You've made quite the impression on him."

Quentin took a deep breath filling his lungs with air.

"Not so impressive as the one he's made on Hyrule," Quentin replied after he exhaled.

Micah nodded knowingly. "I'm glad you were able to pull this off, Quentin. It wouldn't do to see Hyrule's champion hanging from the gallows. And I'm sorry about hassling you that other night."

Quentin waved him off. "Nonsense, you carried me to my apartment and made sure I woke up. You don't owe me any apologies."

Micah shrugged. "Still. Anyway the General wanted you to go meet him at the Temple."

Quentin's head twitched to the side as Micah said 'temple'.

"Why is he going to the Temple?" Quentin asked.

"He said he wanted to celebrate your victory." Micah stepped closer. "Does he know you're an atheist?" he asked in a quieter voice.

Quentin faked ignorance. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Damned Goddesses are going to steal my glory all the same."

Micah chuckled. "Well I've got to return these to the Garrison. When this is all over you and I should get a drink."

"Aye, a drink would be good." Quentin reached forward to squeeze his friend's forearm farewell.

Micah took his arm, furrowed his brow, then pulled Quentin in closer.

"Quentin, what the hell is under your cloak?"

* * *

If Ganondorf had doubted that the Sacred Realm was hidden inside the Temple of Time, he doubted no longer. Even stepping cross the Temple's threshold he could feel power, his own power, calling to him. Impa was right, part of his soul was here. Sealed somewhere on this hallowed ground.

He stepped across the marble floor carefully, glancing suspiciously at the pillars running parallel along the walls. He wondered if it wouldn't be wiser to return to his chambers and get his own swords and armor. He was half expecting Impa, robbed of her titles and position, to ambush him.

The long-sword he'd taken from the Elite might be great by mortal standards, but to Ganondorf it was barely better than a toy. He preferred his twin blades, Gehenna and Sheol. Either one, alone, could be mistaken for a curved great sword. To Ganondorf, originally trained as a Gerudo warrior and taught to wield two weapons simultaneously, they were extensions of his body.

It appeared that he was alone for the moment. Ganondorf took a moment to close his eyes and dive deeper into himself, to that place where his magic should be waiting for him. Still empty. But he could feel it was close. He could feel it as though his heart were thumping on without him somewhere nearby. A distinct clicking noise pulled him from his meditation. In a millisecond he had the long-sword in hand and had turned 180 degrees, ready for an attacker.

He almost laughed aloud when he heard the clicking three more times, realizing who it was coming from.

"I can hear you from a mile away with that damned thing!" Ganondorf called even before Quentin stepped into view.

The crippled lord came to a halt when he saw Ganondorf's sword drawn. Ganondorf snorted and sheathed the tiny weapon. Quentin's eyes followed the sword to its sheath.

"I thought you were someone else," Ganondorf offered nonchalant.

Quentin smiled. "No worries. Congratulations General."

Ganondorf clapped his hands together remembering he'd sent that Elite to find Quentin.

"Congratulations to us, Quentin!" he cheered, a genuine smile plastered on his face. "I'm a free man and you single-handedly embarrassed the most powerful men and women in the realm!"

"Is it because of those powerful men and women you're carrying that?" Quentin asked pointing at Micah's sword.

Ganondorf touched the hilt of the sword and gave Quentin a curious look. The man didn't seem as ecstatic as he'd expected. Truth be told he hadn't actually seen the man excited before so he had no way of knowing if the man was ever anything less than serious.

 _Maybe he's nervous about Impa and Heydron_ , Ganondorf reasoned to himself. Quentin had good reason to be. Impa might think twice about attacking Ganondorf but the man knew she could assassinate Quentin without breaking a sweat then hide the body without a problem.

 _Is now the time to tell him?_ Ganondorf wondered. He had every intention of telling Quentin everything. Of making Quentin the most powerful man in the realm, second only to himself. But he wanted to line a few things up before he took the bliss of ignorance from the 'champion of the law'.

"The Princess and her consorts have declared themselves my enemy have they not?" Ganondorf asked. "You've spent the last three days defending me against their lies but now I must defend myself."

Quentin nodded. "It's unlikely anyone will approach you. I doubt anyone thinks three days in a cell is enough to weaken you."

Ganondorf laughed. "Three days is nothing. My mothers once locked me in a temple with no food for two weeks. That reminds me, your friend Micah told me you convinced Leopold to drop the rest of the charges. Is that true?"

Quentin smiled again. "It's a good thing you didn't kill anyone."

The two laughed together this time. As the laughter was dying Ganondorf was just about to tell Quentin the truth about why he came to the Temple when Quentin spoke up.

"Forgive me, General, we should be celebrating now that you're out," Quentin started. "It's just that this place," he looked around with narrow eyes. "Does not sit well with me. Makes my damned knee ache something fierce. Perhaps we can celebrate properly when you're officially returned to your position tomorrow?"

"Of course!" Ganondorf said. "We'll have a feast in your honor. You and that squire of yours."

Quentin bowed. "You are too kind. I was only repaying my debt." When he stood back up he glanced at the sword on Ganondorf's hip one more time. "Well, it has been a long day. I think I will retire for the night and prepare for tomorrow's festivities."

"Quentin Massys," Ganondorf called as the cripple turned to leave. "I will not forget your loyalty these past three days."

Quentin bowed again then turned away. The clicking of his cane could be heard even as he left the Temple.

While still listening to the cripple's clicking Ganondorf sensed another presence. Slowly this time he turned around. His heart instantly quickedned and his muscles twitched, ready for combat.

"Since when do bishops carry swords?" Ganondorf asked, switching to a deeper more threatening tone.

Simon Islip was standing in front of the alter at the far end of the Temple. A giant sword, relative to what most Hylians carried, was poised tip down in the marble front of him, its hilt just below his chin. His dark eyes were feral, ready for battle.

"Since before and after they become ARCHbishops," Simon answered, his tone just as serious and threatening as Ganondorf's.

Ganondorf slowly reached across his body and drew his long-sword. He was genuinely surprised that Simon Islip of all people was here to stop him.

"You were the Hylian sage all along," Ganondorf assumed. It made sense for the Goddesses to choose one of their servants.

"I was," Simon answered evenly. "And I will not let the future repeat itself."

Ganondorf furrowed his brow. To think that one of the sages had been a judge and Quentin had still managed to win. Setting his growing respect for the crippled lord aside Ganondorf racked his brain for everything he knew about Simon Islip.

The man was a great warrior, nobody questioned that. Ganondorf had never sparred against him but he had fought along side him in the Gerudo War. He was having trouble recalling the man's fighting style though.

"I'm a free man," Ganondorf jeered. "You yourself declared me innocent. If you attack me now, sage or not, you'll hang. Assuming you live long enough to see the gallows."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "So long as I outlive you, I'll have lived long enough."

Ganondorf growled. "Then come and get some, bastard!"

As though the two-handed sword were light as a feather Simon twirled it over his head then charged forward. Ganondorf's excitement rippled through his body as his warrior instincts began to take over. He charged forward to meet his attacker head on. Even though the hilt of his long-sword was too short to hold with two hands he trusted he was strong enough to deflect Simon's great-sword.

As the swords collided Ganondorf realized three things. He realized just how much strength he'd lost from three days without food or sleep, how he'd underestimated Simon's strength, and that one arm was not enough to beat the great-sword.

Ganondorf tightened his grip as his sword was almost knocked away by Simon. Undeterred by his slight disadvantages Ganondorf allowed the great-sword to sweep past him then tried to close the distance and press the attack with his shorter weapon.

Expecting the well executed but fairly common response Simon shifted his right foot back and drew a loop in the air with his sword bringing it back with even more power the second time.

Ganondorf saw the move coming as soon as the leg shifted backwards. Instead of trying to swing at Simon or meeting the great-sword head on he tipped the point of his sword just under the trajectory of the oncoming blade and guided it up and over his head.

The moment the great-sword swept over and past him Ganondorf turned away from Simon while simultaneously stepping closer. Using his centripetal force Ganondorf twirled in closer to Simon, long-sword whistling through the air.

Simon tucked his elbows in close and pulled the hilt of his sword up diagonally, scratching the Temple's marble floor in the process. Just as Ganondorf closed the distance Simon kicked the flat of his sword sending the low hanging point towards Ganondorf's spinning knees.

Choosing to protect his fleshy legs verse landing an insignificant blow to Simon's barely exposed shoulder Ganondorf jumped in the air mid spin and hands-free cartwheeled away from the great-sword's tip.

The two now stood out of each others reach. Simon hid his frustration, this being the first time ever that technique hadn't drawn blood.

"You fight like a Gerudo," Ganondorf offered, starting to remember how Simon had fought on the front lines. Not only did every swing of his great-sword lead into another, but his footwork always kept him swiveling in broken rhythm, making it difficult to time an approach.

"And you move quickly for such a large man," Simon said. He'd spent the last hour recalling every move he'd ever seen Ganondorf make. The man was a titan of epic proportion.

Simon pressed the attack again leading this time with a thrust that changed into a slash in an attempt open Ganondorf's guard. The Gerudo didn't take the bait and instead rolled his hips to the side and kept his sword tight against his body.

The two danced and twirled around each other. Each time their swords connected the sound reverberated off the marble walls of the Temple sharp and clear. Their boots squeaked as they pivoted quickly from one stance to another each frantically moving to press the advantage.

Simon realized quickly that he would have to utilize his entire bag of tricks. Any time he resorted to basic swordsmanship and tried to rely on speed and strength Ganondorf would outmaneuver him, impossibly strong and fast. Simon tried a spinning move that had once cut a Namib dessert horse in half but Ganondorf turned his sword and blocked the incredible blow with the flat of his sword, his elbow and forearm pressed behind it to reinforce the block. Simon had never seen anything like it.

Simon tried jukes and feints, parries and chases, even tried sneaking in a riposte that required him dropping to a knee and changing levels suddenly. Somehow, even if only at the last millisecond, Ganondorf would find a way to avoid it. He had yet to draw blood and he was nearing the end of his tricks. His body was still strong though. He would keep swinging Trinity until Judgement Day if that's what it took to beat Ganondorf.

Ganondorf, on the other hand, was running out of stamina. Having to block Simon's great-sword with one hand was beginning to ware on him. He'd already switched hands, having no problem fighting ambidextrously, but his left arm was nearing exhaustion now too. If he were fighting at his peak he'd have already beaten Simon, he knew that for sure now. The man's fighting style was ingenious to be sure but it relied heavily on being unpredictable yet effective. There were more than a few openings where, if Ganondorf could reach his top speeds or if he was wielding his own weapons, he'd have taken Simon's life.

But longing for Gehenna and Sheol would not conjure them into his hands. Not while his magic was still sealed somewhere nearby. Ganondorf knew he needed to end this quickly while he still had the energy. With no small amount of annoyance he realized he would have to swallow his pride and let Simon cut him in order for his plan to work.

Long-sword in his left hand Ganondorf reversed his grip on the weapon. He caught the look of confusion in Simon's eyes as he pressed offensively with the unorthodox grip. This style of fighting was common in the knife fights Ganondorf had seen, and subsequently, won as a child. But a sword was usually too long and awkward to use in this manner.

Ganondorf threw a couple light strikes to set up his big move. Simon was taking the bait, maneuvering to deflect each attack.

The moment Ganondorf was waiting for arrived. Simon came in with a horizontal swipe. Ganondorf leapt forward with all his strength, sword in his left arm tight against his body and right hand sweeping back behind his hip then shoulder. Simon, realizing his distance was about to be closed continued his horizontal swipe but modified it by pulling his elbows in tight so his sword would miss Ganondorf's and simply slide between the two men as a razor edged divider. The move would force Ganondorf to either put his own sword flat between the two of them or catch steel with his chest.

Too late Simon realized the attack wasn't coming from the sword. Too late he saw Ganondorf's balled fist, cocked behind his right shoulder. Simon couldn't possibly block the punch without opening his entire right sight to Ganondorf's reverse gripped sword. He had to make a decision. Too late he realized he made the wrong decision.

Like a meteor crashing into the Earth, Ganondorf's fist connected with Simon's face. Broken teeth and blood shot from Simon's mouth as his face, neck, torso, then entire body was whipped to the side by Ganondorf's awesome blow. The Archbishop's great-sword clattered against the ground and slid across the marble.

Ganondorf flexed his hand, confident he broke some bones, and patiently inspected the cut across his pectorals. Tentatively he flexed his pecs and winced. The cut was deep, Simon's defense had succeeded in cutting into Ganondorf's muscle, but not deep enough. Ganondorf could still lift his arms, and he could already tell the wound was far from his bone and even farther from his heart.

"I gotta hand it to you, Simon," Ganondorf said slowly walking towards the unconscious 'sage'. "It's not very often a mortal sheds my blood."

Simon's eyes started flickering as life was returning to them. Ganondorf spun his borrowed long-sword in his hand.

"It's too bad nobody witnessed our battle. Your name would go down in Hyrule's history as the last true opponent King Ganondorf faced before ascending to the throne."

Simon opened his eyes, bewildered that he was now suddenly lying down, staring up at Ganondorf and the point of the Gerudo's sword.

 _I failed_ , he realized as his heart sank. _I failed the Goddesses. I failed Hyrule. I failed Rauru._

"Are you curious about my wish, Archbishop?" Ganondorf asked mockingly. "I mean, the one I'm going to make when I have all three pieces of the Triforce."

Simon said nothing, only glared hatefully at the Gerudo.

Ganondorf smiled an evil smile.

"I'm going to wish for Farore, Din, and Nayru to be reborn as Hylian women so I can fuck them in their own temple."

Simon growled and tried to pick himself up but Ganondorf planted a heavy boot in the man's stomach.

"Die knowing your fellow sages will be joining you shortly."

Simon bared his what was left of his teeth.

"Fuck you," he spat.

Ganondorf's eyes grew wide. He pulled his sword back then stabbed it through Simon's chest.

 _No._

 _Wait._

 _That wasn't Simon's chest._

In disbelief he looked down and saw a scarlet covered blade protruding from his chest. He couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything. With numb fingers he tried to grab the blade but it was only protruding a few inches and he couldn't get a hold of it.

Shocked Ganondorf turned around expecting to see Impa or Heydron standing behind him. Who else in Hyrule could possibly rob him of his life?

"Q. . Quentin?" he croaked in disbelief.

The crippled, impoverished, rag-doll, champion of the law, noble was standing in front of him, balancing on one leg.

"Aye," was all Quentin said.

Ganondorf blinked confused. "I. . . I didn't. . . I didn't hear you. . . comi-"

He dropped to his knees, eyes glazing over as the blood drained from his body. The last thing he saw was the bloodstained marble floor of the Temple of Time rushing up to meet him.

Quentin dropped to the floor, wincing as his bad leg hit the ground awkwardly.

"Sorry it took me so long," Quentin said to Simon as the Archbishop sat up. "I would have just gotten in the way if I'd stepped in sooner."

Simon brought his hand up and wiggled his jaw to make sure it was still attached. Ganondorf's corpse continued to bleed out between them, a short sword protruding out of the Gerudo's back. Simon stared at the sword and its fleshy sheath.

"Thank you," he said after a moment.

Quentin scooted backwards away from the pooling blood.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "In fact, we should start coming up with a story. Now, before either of us talk to anyone else."

Simon looked at Quentin with confused shark eyes. "What do you mean? We killed Hyrule's General. We'll hang on tomorrow's gallows."

Quentin shook his head. "No man may be executed for any crime without a trial," he said smiling impishly. "And I happen to know a real clever, crippled, champion of the law."


	14. Chapter 14

Spade ran as he'd never run before. He had to get to Lon Lon Ranch before nightfall. Every child in Hyrule had heard the stories about what befell those who were caught in the fields after dark.

In between his pants and gasps for air the boy cursed himself for wearing the new shoes his master had bought him. Quentin was right, Spade could already feel the blisters on his feet as he raced across the hilly landscape. The sun was setting over his right shoulder and Lon Lon Ranch was still at least two miles away.

 _They're just stories, right?_ Spade thought as he started to slow down. The dead don't really come back rise out of the ground at night, he told himself. But then he remembered Damon, whom he'd buried only a few days ago. And he remembered Warren, Kilter, and that man with the huge ears. All men Quentin had tried to save but failed. All men Spade had buried himself. He had no desire to see any of them clawing their way out of the earth.

With a growl to motivate himself Spade stretched out his strides, determined to outrun his silly fears. By the time he made it to Lon Lon Ranch's gate he was drenched in sweat and the last sliver of light was disappearing below the horizon.

Still feeling exposed to the night Spade slammed on the door with his hand. When nobody answered he banged again and called out. Still no answer. Anxiously he gave the door a pull and was both relieved and surprised to find it unlocked.

 _Maybe it's always unlocked_ , he thought to himself. This was the first time he'd ever visited Hyrule's famous ranch and dairy farm but he'd imagined the owners would keep their massive property locked to dissuade thieves.

Cautiously Spade walked through the portal and deeper into Lon Lon Ranch. Right away he could see the light of a fire coming from a fenced in chorale. Wondering about the owner's policy on trespassers, Spade crept closer. As he walked past the stables he could faintly hear cows mooing gently. A man swearing inside the stable almost had Spade leaping out of his skin.

"Fucking heifers! All you do is eat and shit!" the man shouted from inside. The cows lazily mooed back at him.

Deciding he didn't want to be caught by that guy in particular Spade scurried on. As he got closer to the fire he was starting to make out figures. Shadows were either dancing, standing, or sitting around the fire. Daring to get even closer Spade realized he recognized some of those shadows.

The forest girl, the Goron King that picked up Quentin, the scary lady with white hair, and the pretty Gerudo lady were all among the firelight. There were also dozens of others, Spade noticed right away. Hylians, Humans, Gorons, and even Zoras were sitting around the fire. It looked to Spade like everyone was celebrating something. For the life of him Spade couldn't figure out what all the different races could possibly be celebrating and why they were all doing it here.

Off to the far left Spade spotted the one person he'd come all this way looking for, Link. Knowing what was at stake Spade buried his nervousness and stepped out for the shadow of the building he'd been clinging to. Awkwardly he walked across the entrance of the chorale and towards the boy in green. Nervously Spade glanced side to side hoping nobody would stop to question him.

The scary lady with white hair spotted him almost immediately. Spade quickened his step and averted his gaze but he'd already seen her tap the Gerudo lady on the shoulder and point in his direction. Link was talking to a girl with long red hair and hadn't even glanced in Spade's direction yet.

"Boy!" the scary woman called.

Spade took off running.

He could hear footsteps running after him and Link still hadn't seen him.

"Link!" Spade called desperate to get the boy's attention before the team of Quentin's scorned witnesses caught him.

Link was still caught up in his conversation with the redhead.

Suddenly a hand grabbed the back of Spade's collar and hoisted him into the air. With a yelp Spade was lifted off his feet then turned around to face his captor. He was now staring directly into the most horrific pair of red eyes. Somehow the white haired woman had covered 100 yds in seconds.

"Please!" Spade squeaked as his voice cracked from both fear and puberty. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I need help! Link told me he'd be here so I ran here to talk to him!" he explained frantically.

The woman narrowed her eyes, stared at the boy hard for a second, then set him back on his feet.

"Hero!" she called to Link.

"Link!" Link called back. "My name is, Link, Impa."

Impa grabbed Spade by the shoulders and spun him around so he was facing the boy in green. With a shove she said, "Quentin's squire is here. He claims you told him where to find you."

The Gerudo, the forest girl, and a Zora girl that had been standing with them caught up to Spade and Impa. The Goron was still huffing and puffing as he jogged behind them. Link, an intrigued look on his face, walked over towards Spade.

"Yea," Link answered. "I told him I'd be at Lon Lon Ranch if he needed anything."

Impa let out a 'hmph'.

"Well, friend?" Link asked, a warm smile on his face. "You ran all the way here for a reason. What's up?"

Spade glanced over his shoulder at Quentin's 'biggest fans'. All of them were glaring at him.

"Uhh. . . can we talk somewhere private?" he asked.

* * *

When Spade had asked to speak somewhere private, he was hoping he'd get to speak with Link alone. Instead he was now crammed in a living room full of twelve cuckoos, King Darunia, Princess Ruto, Impa, Saria, Link, Nabooru, and the red-headed human named Malon. After introductions were finished Spade nervously cleared his throat.

"After the trial," Spade started. "And after I overheard Master Impa talking to General Ganondorf, I went and found Quentin and told him what I'd heard." Still nervous Spade glanced around the room. He'd never been great at public speaking and even though the crowd was small, their prestige was not. He could already feel his face turning red.

"Then Quentin took off and told me he needed to go see his friend, Master Micah, an Elite."

Impa nodded her head. "I know of Lieutenant Micah."

"Well apparently," Spade continued. "Quentin stole a sword from the garrison's armory and went and got the Archbishop." Spade paused, wondering how best to say something that he hardly believed himself.

"And?" Nabooru asked. "Did your crippled master attack Simon?"

Spade shook his head. "Quentin and Archbishop Islip cornered General Ganondorf in the Temple and murdered him."

"What?" Kind Darunia balked.

"No way!" Saria gasped.

Link also looked surprised but said nothing.

"Do you think it's possible?" Nabooru asked Impa.

Impa was stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Simon Islip is no novice to combat," Impa said. "I've sparred with him before and he's definitely a force to be reckoned with. But not a match for Ganondorf."

"And why would he attack Ganon?" Link asked. "Unless I'm thinking of someone else, he was one of the judges that declared Ganon innocent, right?"

"He was Rauru's pupil," Impa answered. "I'm guessing Rauru went and spoke to him after the verdict."

Everyone but Spade nodded their heads as if that suddenly made everything clear.

"That's incredible," Darunia said crossing his arms in front of his chest. "And here we were scheming while the old man solved our problems."

"But there's still a problem," Spade dared to interrupt. "They got caught by the city guards when they were leaving the temple. The Archbishop confessed right away and the two of them were locked up." Spade turned to Link. "Quentin was in court this morning trying to defend them but General Carter brought in Micah and some other soldiers who'd seen him stealing the sword. They lost. The judges sentenced them to be executed!"

Nobody said a word. The only sound that could be heard were the dozen of cuckoos clucking about. Goddesses only knew why they were indoors in the first place.

Spade stared at Link with pleading eyes.

"I didn't know what to do so I thought maybe you could-"

"Help Quentin escape?" Nabooru interrupted.

Spade's shoulders slumped. There was no love for his master in this room.

"Ha!" she laughed, throwing her head back. "Why would any of us want to help that bastard?" she asked. "For Simon, maybe. But for that crippled moblin?" The Gerudo woman spat an the floor next to a cuckoo. The bird clucked indignantly and fluttered off to a safer dryer spot.

"He reaps what he sows," Darunia said with a furrowed brow. "If he hadn't joined Ganondorf in the first place, none of this would have happened. "

The rest of the room seemed to be in agreement.

"He's not a bad person," Spade pleaded. Nabooru laughed again but Spade continued. "He only joined the General because he saved his life during the War. And he must have realized he was wrong because he took it in his own hands to fix his mistake."

Doubting faces stared back at the boy.

Spade balled his fists angrily. "He only fought against you and the judges because he's tired of innocent people getting executed!" He turned to Impa, the most intimidating person in the room. "You remember what it was like before Quentin." Truthfully Spade himself didn't know firsthand what the justice system had been like before his master but he'd heard from Quentin and other citizens.

"Even though Haydrian's laws were around peasants and low-born didn't get to see the court room. If they angered a noble they were guilty by default. And if it was two peasants quarreling, and nobody cared about their case, they were both tortured until one of them gave up and 'confessed'." Spade was doing his best to sound like Quentin but he feared his was coming up short. "Goddesses forbid a peasant made a mistake involving the church! My first case working for Quentin a baker had his teeth pulled out by one of the bishops in an attempt to get him to confess to lying about his tithe."

Spade raised six fingers up, shoving them as close to Impa's face as he dared. "I've buried six people that were declared guilty by the Royal Court and of the six the worst crime was counterfeit stamps." Spade turned back to Link, who appeared to be listening intensively.

"At the same time Quentin and I watched a lord get convicted of rape and slander and his only punishment was some rupees. That's why Quentin fought so hard against you guys." Spade turned again to look at everyone in the room. "Even if he saved one hundred guilty men, he wouldn't be able to catch up to the number of innocent people executed by the Court."

Princess Ruto, Saria, and Malon were all looking down at their feet. Nabooru and Darunia looked annoyed and Impa's face was unreadable.

"Is there any truth to what the boy says?" Link asked Impa.

Spade thought it was weird that Link, a child even younger than himself, would refer to Spade as a boy but he didn't say anything about it.

Impa stared hard at Spade before answering. "Some," was all she said.

"Well," Link said dusting feathers off the bottom of his tunic. "That settles it."

Spade looked from Impa to the boy in green. "It does?" he asked.

Link nodded. "It does."

* * *

"Alright," Quentin confessed. "So maybe I'm not as good as I thought I was."

Simon grunted unintelligibly. Even as they were leaving the Temple Simon's jaw had begun swelling. Unfortunately, and as the Goddesses way to spite Quentin, his jaw hadn't swollen shut until AFTER he'd blabbed to the guards that the two of them had killed Ganondorf.

Quentin's heart was beating a million times a second. Ever since General Carter had jovially declared them guilty, Quentin had been obsessed with this moment. He wanted a brave man's death. He wanted to face Death with dignity. But here he was, standing on the wood platform, knees shaking uncontrollably.

They had denied him the use of his cane. No sense making a cripple comfortable before he hangs. Quentin probably would have left it behind anyway. Of all days, his last day his leg decided not to bother him. He could almost put half his weight on it.

 _The last joke of the Goddesses_ , Quentin thought, not the least bit amused.

While the executioner was tying Quentin and Simon's nooses Quentin scanned the crowd. There was the usual flock of doe-eyed crows. Pissants there to enjoy their morning execution. He supposed the crowd was just a bit larger than usual since it wasn't every day an Archbishop was killed.

He searched for Micah and James but couldn't find them anywhere. With a sigh, he reasoned to himself that he shouldn't be angry with them. He had, after all, taken advantage of both of them. Lied to Micah and stole from James. He wished he'd foreseen General Carter being hellbent on prosecuting them though. Quentin wondered what Simon had done to piss the man off so badly.

To his left Quentin heard a stream of mumbling coming from Simon. Just like Quentin, the man's hands were tied behind his back. All the same, Simon's head was bowed while he prayed 'aloud" to his Goddesses. Quentin was going to say something sarcastic but stopped himself.

 _Bah, who am I to rob his last moments of comfort?_ Quentin thought to himself. Secretly he wished the Goddesses were real too. But even now, while the executioner secured the noose around his neck, he couldn't bring himself to ask them for help.

 _I bet you'd like nothing more than to hear me repent and beg_ , Quentin thought spitefully. You uncouth harlots!

The executioner stood between the two men, the Archbishop and the Champion of the Law. His hand was resting on the lever.

Quentin's heart beat even faster and he chomped his teeth together.

 _This is it!_ he screamed in his head.

 _This is the end._

 _Here it comes!_

The floor fell out beneath him and he plummeted, his heart skipping a beat. He clamped his eyes shut as the platform rushed up to meet him. His short drop became longer, then longer then. . . .

CRASH

Pain exploded up his leg as he hit the ground in a heap.

His cry of anguish was drowned out by the gasping then screaming of the crowd. Through tear filled eyes he looked up in time to see a strange 'L' shaped object spin through the air into the hands of a boy dressed in green.

 _Link?_ Quentin thought in disbelief.

Quickly, growling through the pain, Quentin sat up and looked over to his left. Simon was laying on his face, confused and bewildered, with a severed rope still dangling around his neck.

"Simon!" Quentin shouted and scooted towards the Archbishop. "We gotta get up! We gotta go!"

Guards were shouting and the crows were scattering in a frenzy. Through the chaos Quentin could see Link, holding a stick like a sword, fending off the guards that were rushing in.

"Now, while they're distracted, Simon!" Quentin shouted again. He was struggling to his feet with a bum leg and his hands behind his back. Simon had a wild look in his eyes, like he was suffering some sort of morale dilemma.

Just as Quentin made it to his feet the executioner leapt down from the platform. Quentin didn't give him a chance to stand straight up and draw his sword. His best war cry on his lips Quentin jumped in the air, curled into a ball, then kicked the hooded executioner square in the chest with both legs.

Both men fell down but only one of them dislocated his shoulder when he hit the ground. Quentin swore as he felt the jolt in his left shoulder. He wiggled to no avail on the ground while the executioner picked himself up and drew his bastard sword.

 _So close,_ Quentin thought as he accepted that there was no way Simon or Link could come to his rescue. Despite himself Quentin closed his eyes as the executioner swung his blade downwards.

An 'ooof' from the executioner coaxed Quentin into peeking. Impa, Quentin's own white haired beautiful warrior deity, was standing over an unconcious executioner.

Impa turned around and asked, "Are you just going to lie there?"

Quentin wiggled frantically but now with the useless arm on top of the bum leg, he was unable to sit up. With a sigh Impa bent over and scooped Quentin up in her arms.

"My hero," Quentin said resting his head on the Sheikah's shoulder.

Impa sucked in air through her teeth sharply then tossed Quentin from her arms to her shoulders like he was a bag of grain. He would have made an indignant remark but truthfully his odds of escaping were much higher atop his lady-Sheikah mount.

"Simon," Impa barked. "I can only carry one of you. Let's go!"

Still lost in his inner struggle Simon just looked at the Sheikah apologetically.

"Rauru is waiting for you, Simon. Move!" Without waiting to see if that would do the trick Impa turned and fled towards Hyrule Field.

Quentin, still hanging over her shoulder, saw that her words had in fact done the trick. Simon was up on his feet and running after the Sheikah.

"What about the kid?" Quentin called to his white haired mare.

"They couldn't catch him if they tried," Impa assured him. "He'll catch up with us shortly."

Quentin wanted to ask 'where' he'd be catching up with them at but he could tell Impa was already breathing heavy carrying Quentin AND maintaining her incredible pace.

"Oh shit," Quentin swore when he heard hooves. "Is that the cavalry?"

Simon grunted at him but Quentin didn't understand a word. He assumed Impa wasn't coming to a halt to surrender though. The moment the Sheikah stopped running she unceremoniously shook Quentin off her shoulder. Expecting the disregard for his well-being Quentin spun mid-air so as to land on his good shoulder.

"Quentin!" a familiar voice called. Teenager sized hands grabbed Quentin under his armpit and helped him to his feet.

"Spade!" Quentin cried in genuine relief. "I knew you'd come through for me lad!"

Impa walked behind Quentin and cut the rope around his wrists. His left arm swung at his side uselessly. Impa paused, looked at it, then before Quentin could say anything yanked on the arm popping the shoulder back into place.

"Dammit woman!" Quentin cried hugging his shoulder.

"We should get going," Impa said while cutting Simon's bonds. "The sages are waiting for us at the edge of the Gerudo Desert."

Quentin counted and sure enough there were four horses with Spade. Not wasting any time Quentin climbed into the saddle of a brown gelding.

"Are you sure Link will be fine?" Quentin asked again looking back towards the way they came.

"I'm sure," Impa said, climbing atop her own white stallion.

* * *

Sure enough Link caught up to them just as they were entering the Gerudo Desert. He was atop a red filly and looked sweaty but uninjured.

Quentin, Spade, Impa, Link, and Simon rode in silence as the grass beneath them turned to clay. Quentin had a million questions but wanted to think them through thoroughly before opening his mouth and sounding like an idiot. He certainly wasn't expecting Impa to lead them to three of his biggest fans.

"What is this?" Quentin asked when he saw Darunia, Nabooru, and Saria all waiting for them by the edge of a cliff. There was an old man and a zora with them too.

"Relax," Link offered from behind. "We didn't save you just to throw you off a cliff. Well. . . Nabooru might."

Quentin glanced at Spade questioningly but the boy seemed relaxed, even relieved to see this group.

"Simon!" the old man cried as he threw his hands up in the air.

Simon slid off his horse's saddle and ran over to the old man. Instead of embracing the man Simon dropped to his knees in front of him and started mumbling what could have been an apology. The old man shook his head and pulled Simon to his feet.

"Nonsense my boy," he said. "You saved Hyrule from it's darkest hour. It is only fitting the Goddesses spare you from the gallows."

"Thank you," Quentin said to the man, then repeated it turning to Impa and then Link. "Thank you both."

Next, swallowing his pride Quentin turned to Saria, Nabooru, and Darunia. "And I am sorry to all three of you," he said sincerely. "I now know each of you were telling the truth, and I did nothing but embarrass and disgrace you will you tried to warn me."

Saria curtsied and Darunia nodded his head.

"It all worked out in the end," Darunia offered in his deep voice.

Nabooru said nothing.

"And I'm sorry to you most of all," Quentin offered the Gerudo.

The Gerudo let out a 'hmph' and turned her head away. Quentin decided to accept the silent treatment and not push any harder.

"So what now?" Quentin asked since it seemed the people he now knew were sages were content with just staring out over the cliff at the distant Hyrule Field.

"Well," Link answered. "Thanks to your thorough work as a champion of the law and us interrupting your execution Impa and I will have to leave Hyrule. Brother Darunia and the others will return to their kingdoms and Rauru will likely have to come out of retirement to resume his post as Archbishop."

"And what are Simon, Spade and I to do?" Quentin asked. "I'm not exactly welcome amongst the Gerudo, I can't eat rocks, and I don't have gills. We have no money either."

Link smiled at the man. "You can come with me," he said. "A friend of mine disappeared after we returned from the future. I'd like to go find her but it may take a while."

Quentin thought about it then shrugged. "Aye, I'll come with you. But not Spade."

Spade looked at his master, betrayal already spilling onto his face. Quentin put a hand on his assistant's shoulder.

"Lad," he said looking Spade in the eyes. "You know why I started my song and dance in the court room. If we leave Hyrule things will go right back to how they were. I want you to go back to Castle Town and continue my practice."

Spade's eyes grew in shock. "I'm nowhere near ready for that!" he argued. "I can't possibly do what you do."

Quentin gestured towards his 'fan club'. "You convinced this lot that I was worth rescuing. That had to have been a hell of a lot harder than convincing old Leopold not to brand some peasant."

Spade started to stammer out some excuse but Rauru waddled over and put a hand on the boy's other shoulder.

"It's a splendid idea!" Rauru said. "But since the lad's not a noble he'll need to join the church and earn a title."

"What?" Quentin asked incredulously. "The last kid you took under your wing got arrested for murder!"

Simon tried to growl through his swollen jaw. Quentin laughed and patted the steaming former Archbishop.

"I'm kidding, Simon," he said, then to Rauru and Spade. "It's a great idea. Can you handle this Spade? Can I trust you to carry my legacy?"

Tears were welling up in the boy's eyes.

"Oh Goddesses," Quentin groaned. He pulled the boy in for a hug.

"Yes," Spade answered burying his face in Quentin chest. This was the second time the two had ever embraced like this. The first time being when Quentin rescued the orphan spade from the clutches of a broken justice system. Where the punishment for startling a noble's horse and having said horse throw the noble into the street would have been branding with a hot iron.

"And what about you?" Quentin asked Simon. "Will you be joining the Hero of Time and his crippled squire?"

Simon shook his head and pointed at Nabooru.

"Gnnndrfsss muddeersss," he mumbled through his locked jaw.

Nabooru raised an eyebrow. "You want to help me kill the witches?" she asked, an amused smile creeping onto her face.

Simon nodded.

Nabooru walked over and put her arm in Simon's.

"Very well," she said. "Soon as that jaw of yours is healed we'll go on a witch hunt."

Quentin turned to Impa but the Sheikah raised her hand before Quentin could speak.

"I am still the Princess's guardian. I will stay and protect her from the shadows."

Quentin walked over and took Impa's muscular arm in his. "But do we have to part ways without even a kiss?" he asked.

Simon grunted happily now that he wasn't the only person with a broken jaw.

 _Totally worth it_ , Quentin thought.

* * *

 **Author's Note: The end of Part 1! Thank you for enduring my pedantic writing abilities and making it this far. Originally, this was the end of the entire story, Quentin and company's futures were left to your imagination. But as I tried to move on and write other stories, I kept coming back to Quentin and Spade and even Simon. I NEEDED to write more of their story, even if just for myself.**

 **So here comes Part 2.**

 **-Target22**


	15. Chapter 15

**PART II: Eclipsed Execution**

* * *

After days of panic and calamity, Eurick was astounded by how fast Clock Town resumed its monotonous everyday crawl. The traffic through the North Gate was unusually thick but Eurick assumed many of the travelers were residents who'd fled while the sky was falling.

"Of course it's just a story," he heard one of the merchants passing through the North Gate say. "As if the moon could fall. And I tell you what. If it really did fall, not even giants would be able to throw it back."

Eurick peered over to his right where a well-dressed rotund man was ambling along next to three men attending a cart. By their clothes and demeanor it was clear the three men were employed by the fat man, bobbing their heads when he spoke and agreeing as though his were the only opinion that mattered. Eurick, one of the stupid guards who – like a good soldier – maintained his post, nearly pissed himself when the moon fell so close it blocked the sky. He really did piss himself when just before impact, four giants appeared out of nowhere and caught the moon before tossing it back into the sky.

"I saw it," Eurick said. The men stopped their mule and cart in front of the guard.

The merchant had an amused look on his face. "You saw the moon falling?" he asked.

"Aye, I saw it," Eurick confirmed. "Just a few nights ago it came so close that if you looked up, it blocked the whole sky."

"I suppose giants really put it back in the sky?" He snorted and gave one of his men a look.

Eurick nodded. "Aye, saw them too."

The merchant leaned over to his closest employee. "Termina Fever," he whispered. "Half the city must have been struck with it."

"'ow big were they?" one of the other men asked.

Eurick lifted his spear and pointed with the metal end. "Taller than Clock Tower," he said. "No torso, just arms and legs and a giant head."

The men, even the merchant, turned south where Clock Town's most famous structure stood above the rest of the city. One of Eurick's friends was stationed right beside Clock Tower. He said from his angle all he could see was the giants' hands, catching the sides of the moon what looked like inches away from the tower's top. He told Eurick that there was a moment when the hands holding up the moon shook, and that he worried the giants wouldn't be enough to save them.

"Get your damned cart moving," a voice said from behind the stopped party. "This is a gate not a pub. Share your stories somewhere else."

"Excuse me?" Eurick brought his spear down in front of him and moved around to see who was bold enough to bark at a City Guard.

"You're stopping traffic. People are trying to get through," the man said.

The man trapped behind the cart was leaning heavily on a cane staring daggers at the fat merchant and the mule. Travelers from the north were usually weary and covered in grime from their journey but the cripple looked the worst of both. His hair was shaggy and his beard a mess of unkempt stubble. There were bags under his eyes and deep wrinkles around his frown. Eurick would swear that even from a distance he could smell the man's pungent odor but the smell wasn't what worried him.

"You!" Eurick said pointing his spear again, this time at the man with the cane. "Stop there!"

"I'm trying not to stop, didn't you hear me?" The man looked deranged and furious, the blood covering his jerkin and pants only enhancing the look.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Eurick demanded.

The merchant and his men, wanting no part in a city guard's scuffle with some vagabond, began hastily moving their cart and creating distance between themselves and the North Gate. As the cart moved the cripple tried to follow it but Eurick moved in front of him, blocking his way entirely. The crippled man's jaw flexed while he looked up at the guard with bloodstained eyes.

"My horse broke it's leg," the cripple said with forced patience. "I killed it to spare it the suffering."

"How'd you kill it?" Eurick asked. "Are you carrying a weapon?"

The cripple exhaled forcefully through his nose. "I was," he said in exasperation. "But a fucking bird attacked me and flew off with my sword. After a savage attacked my friend and stole his horse, but not before I wandered around in the woods for SIX DAYS! So if you'll excuse me, I'm in excruciating pain and would love to see your town's doctor."

He tried to get around the guard but Eurick moved to stop him again.

"You understand I can't just let a stranger covered in blood wander around the city," Eurick said. "You could be a murderer for all I know."

The cripple furrowed his brow then surprised Eurick by turning around and limping away. He was grumbling under his breath and raking the shins of people in his way but Eurick didn't move to intercept him.

He couldn't have been in that much pain, Eurick reasoned to himself. Hopefully he'll make his way to the Cross Guard Inn and clean himself up before returning.

After the incident with the smelly cripple the day resumed its crawl. Eurick heard more mentions of the past few days, the moon and the giants and all that, but he held his tongue, content to count the minutes until he was relieved. Jonathon should be relieving him today, he thought. Jonathon wasn't usually late but he had his bad days like everyone else.

Eurick was just beginning to plan the rest of his day when someone caught his eye. On the far side of the gate where traffic normally headed outbound, a woman was leading a donkey and cart. Every now and then people used the other side of the gate when there was little traffic in the opposite direction, but they normally didn't sweat preposterously and glance at the guard nervously and repeatedly. When Eurick made eye contact with the woman she practically changed color.

"Halt!" he commanded.

The woman flinched before coming to a halt. With an inward groan Eurick marched toward her. She was a frail woman, probably from the swamps Eurick judged from her boots and muddied dress. The swamp rats were always trying to smuggle their herbs and mushrooms into town. The black market of Clock Town paid top dollar for the fungus, only doubling their price when the Mayor outlawed them.

"I'm off shift in half an hour and I'm really not trying to spend my afternoon cataloging contraband," Eurick said when he was standing over the woman. Her bottom lip trembled and she wrung her hands. Well aware that he'd already won Eurick lowered his voice and put on a friendlier, more honest demeanor. "Show me what you've got in that cart, we'll toss it out, and you can get on your way without any more fuss. Does that sound like a deal?"

The woman didn't look up. Tears were beginning to spill from her eyes while liquid oozed from her nose.

The upper corner of Eurick's lip twitched in disgust but he gave it one more shot. "You seem a decent woman," he said softly. "If I have to pull back that tarp without your permission, I have to make it an official inspection. Now, whatever you're trying to bring into this city it probably wasn't your idea, was it?"

The woman shook her head.

"And you don't want any trouble," Eurick continued. Coercion wasn't common from Clock Town's underground but it wasn't unheard of. "So I tell you what, shake your head 'no' one more time if you will allow me to inspect your cart, unofficially."

The woman paused for a moment, contemplating what the guard was offering. "I won't get in any trouble?" she squeaked.

Eurick smiled. "None."

The woman's trembling lessened and she had the decency to wipe her runny nose with the sleeve of her dress. She looked up at Eurick and deliberately shook her head. "No you cannot search my cart."

In one step Eurick was past her and moving around the donkey to get to the cart. He grabbed the canvas. "I take it you're bringing mushroom—"

"Goddess Dammit."

Eurick flinched backwards.

Sprawled over a pile of potatoes and corn was the same stinky, bloody, cripple he'd turned away earlier.

"You sneaky bastard." Over his initial surprise Eurick reached into the cart, grabbed the cripple by his scruff, and hauled him out onto the street. "Did he put you up to this?" Eurick asked the woman.

With frightened eyes the woman looked from the cripple to Eurick and nodded. Eurick gave the cripple a shake. "Threaten her, did you?"

The cripple grunted but made no move to physically resist the guard. Eurick gave him another shake. "Answer me!"

"I want to see the Magistrate," the cripple said defeatedly.

Eurick threw his head back. "HA! The Magistrate? You're going to see nothing but the inside of a cell if I have anything to say about it." He turned and called to the other guard. "Howard! Mind my post! I've got a rat to get rid of." Then to the woman, "You're free to go ma'am. This one won't be bothering you anymore."

The woman squeaked out a 'thank you' before throwing the tarp back over her vegetables and leading her donkey deeper into town. With his arm under the cripple's armpit on his weak-side, Eurick practically dragged the man towards the town's keep. Eurick asked the cripple his name and where he was from but the stubborn, stinking, fool only repeated that he wanted to see the Magistrate. Just before they reached the Keep the man looked back over his shoulder then started laughing softly.

"Something funny?" Eurick asked scornfully.

The cripple shook his head, a smile on his face. "That clever bitch," he said.

"What?"

The cripple turned to look at the guard who caught him. "She was smuggling mushrooms under the vegetables, you idiot."

"What!?"

"Why do you think she was willing to let me crawl under that tarp in the first place?"

The guard stopped just outside the keep. "Why didn't you say something?"

The cripple shrugged with his right shoulder. "Why didn't you let me into the city the first time?"

Eurick pulled away from the cripple, leaving the man to hop on his one good leg while he tried to stay upright. "I could have you flogged for aiding a smuggler."

The cripple looked very focused on keeping himself upright. "No you cannot," he said, waving his arms to keep his balance. "You searched the cart illegally without permission and still managed to let a fortune of illegal mushrooms roll into your city. You can't charge me without admitting a dereliction of duty that would probably get you fired." He finally managed to steady himself, his left foot hovering less than an inch from the ground. Despite his teetering position he looked at Eurtin with an arrogant smirk on his face. "And now that I've set my uncrippled foot within your city, you can't kick me out without an order from the Magistrate."

Eurick crossed his arms and scowled. Whoever he was, the cripple was right. "How do you know our laws so well?" he asked.

"I read a lot," he answered, still confident. "Now, if you'll point me in the direction of your doctor, and maybe a place where I can buy a cane–"

"Whatever you read," Eurck said cutting him off. "It's out of date."

The cripple raised an eyebrow, his smile slowly disappearing. "Oh?"

It was Eurick's turn to grin as he stepped forward and grabbed the cripple's arm. "Clock Town city guard are allowed to arrest and apprehend any suspicious foreigner in the city and hold them for a maximum of three days." While he shoved the cripple toward the Keep he added, "I'd say a man covered in blood qualifies as suspicious, don't you?"

"A stupid law," the cripple grumbled as they entered the Keep. Eurick noticed the man look up at the corners of the Keep's roof as if he was expecting to see something. Well beyond the limits of his patience Eurick gave the man a push and closed the door behind them.

"What's this?" the Keep's clerk asked as Eurick and the cripple came to a stop in front of his desk.

"Suspicious foreigner," the cripple answered before Eurick could. The guard gave him an unappreciative shake but confirmed what he'd told the clerk.

"Very well," the clerk said dully. He pulled a quill from his inkpot and brought the tip to rest on the parchment cluttering his desk. "Your name?" he asked the cripple, without looking up.

"Simon," the cripple said after a pause. "Simon Spade."

The clerk started to write but paused when he heard the second name. He looked up and eyed the cripple. "Is that your real name?" he asked. "It's illegal to impersonate a noble. Even a foreign one."

"Aye," the cripple said. "I'm a noble. Just a rather crippled and impoverished one."

The clerk gave Eurick a skeptical look then returned to writing out the name. "No empty cells," he said when he was done. "He'll have to share with the kid."

"I want to speak to the Magi—" Another loving shove from the guard cut him off as he was forced past the desk toward the cells that waited behind it.

"You'll see the Magistrate in three days," Eurick said from behind him. "When you're released." The guard grabbed his shoulder and forced him to a halt while he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and opened the oak and steel door of Simon Spade's new cell. "Play nice," he said curtly. He gave the cripple one last heartfelt shove before closing the door behind him.

 _Now I have to go wash my hands_ , Eurick thought in disgust.

x X x

* * *

x X x

The push was too hard and the cripple wasn't able to keep his balance. He tumbled forward and landed gracelessly on his face. The floor of the cell was stone, covered in dirt and straw and likely human filth. With a few choice swear words on his lips the cripple pushed himself up.

"Quentin?"

The cripple's head whipped to the side. Sitting on one of the three flimsy cots was the last person Quentin expected to see. But there he was, Link, still sporting the green tunic and hat he'd been wearing when Quentin lost track of him almost a week ago,

"Link?" Quentin asked. He turned so that he was sitting on his butt, his back leaning against the wall. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"Catching up on some much needed rest," Link responded plainly. "You?"

Quentin glanced at the small opening in the door to ensure nobody was eavesdropping. "I got lost in the woods trying to find you. I've been wandering around out there for days!"

Link nodded. "I know. I was gonna go back to get you but I got real busy here."

Quentin snorted. "I'll say. Did you get arrested trying to pass through the gates too?"

Link shook his head. "No. I got in fine. Got Epona back too. No, this," he held his arms up to indicate their shared cell. "This is new."

"Then what have you been doing? And why did you get arrested?" Quentin asked.

Link smiled. "You're not going to like it."

"Like what?"

"I've traveled through time again," Link said, eyes growing wide with excitement.

Quentin brought his thumb and forefinger up to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "Please not this again," he groaned.

"You said that last time I told you too."

"What? Last time?"

"We got separated, what, a week ago?" Link asked.

"About."

Link leaned forward. "Those first three days after we got separated, I've relived those same three days one hundred times."

Quentin took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. He had to accept that nothing this kid ever did made sense. But in their year of travelling together, he'd never once known Link to lie.

"Why were you living the same three days one hundred times?" Quentin asked, deciding it was best to humor the boy.

"You won't like this one either," Link said.

"No, I suppose I won't."

"The moon was falling and I had to stop it."

"Oh good goddesses!" Quentin kicked a pile of straw away with his good leg. "Are you serious?"

Link nodded, an amused grin on his face. "That kid that jumped us in the woods, the one with the mask? He put a curse on the moon."

Quentin furrowed his brow. "You know what? I heard some folks talking about that, actually. They seemed to think it was giants who caught the moon and put it back."

"It was," Link said. "I freed them and called them for help."

"Of course you did," Quentin said with a shake of his head.

"They didn't really put it back in the sky though," Link continued. "Although I'm sure it looked that way. Once I lifted the curse that was put on the moon it just sort of floated away, resuming its place in the sky."

"And how did you end up here?"

Link opened his mouth to answer but the sound of the cell door's lock turning interrupted him. Quentin didn't bother rising from his seat but Link stood up and straightened his tunic. Quentin expected a guard to step through, or maybe one of the boys whose job it was to bring prisoners their slop. It was neither.

The first thing Quentin noticed was the well-polished black leather shoes, shorter than boots but still covering the ankle. They were a modern fashion Quentin had never quite embraced. Just above the mouth of the polished shoes, the hem of their visitor's trousers came to a stop. Spotless white stockings were barely visible beneath the pants and yet stood out between the black shoes and dark blue pants. Tracing up the stranger's uncrippled legs, Quentin took note of the silk and velvet jerkin, the lamb skin gloves, and the oily slicked back mane of black hair. Quentin knew that whoever he was, the man was wealthy.

"Welcome," Link said as politely as though he were hosting a dinner party. "How may I help you?"

His back to Quentin, the stranger bowed his head. "Sorry to bother," the man said in a slightly higher than typical voice. "I was looking for . . ." he turned away from Link, scanning the room until he'd turned all the way around to find Quentin sitting against the wall. "You!" he said delightedly.

Quentin raised an eyebrow and looked up at the man. He had faded green eyes, perfect eyebrows, smooth pale skin, high cheekbones, an immaculately shaved face, and straight white teeth. His chin was weak and his neck was a little thin, Quentin thought bemusedly. No amount of grooming or wealth could fix a weak chin or frail backbone.

"Me?" Quentin asked, unimpressed. "What could a wealthy nobleman want with little crippled me?"

"You're," he paused and looked behind him at the doorway. "Simon Spade, correct?"

"I am," Quentin answered. "The most Simon of all the Spades. And you are?"

The man's friendly smiled remained on his face. If Quentin's lack of respect bothered him, it didn't show. "Amos Gryphon," the man said. "And I'm here to get you out, Lord Spade."

Quentin blinked in surprise. "Get me out? Why?"

"Foreigners arrested for suspicious activity can be freed if a Termina Noble vouches for them and no crime has been made apparent."

Quentin used the palms of his hands against the stone wall to help push himself to his feet. "And why would you vouch for me? Have we met?"

Amos watched Quentin struggle for a minute before a thought occurred to him and he reached through the doorway to retrieve something. When his hand returned, it held a beautiful cherry wood cane with a smooth black stone serving as a pommel. "No, we've never met," Amos said, offering the cane to Quentin. The cripple looked at the cane for a moment before taking and putting it to use.

Quentin opened his mouth to speak but Amos cut him off by raising his hand. "This isn't an ideal place to speak. Shall we continue somewhere more hospitable?"

"My page." Quentin tilted his head toward Link. "I'll need him to accompany me."

"It's alright, Lord Spade," Link said with a sympathetic smile. "I intend to resume catching up on some much needed sleep. I'll be fine here."

Amos glanced at the boy before turning back to Quentin. "Your page's charges are one of the things I wanted to discuss. He'll be treated well here." When Quentin objected the man continued. "I can't get him out today but if you come with me I promise you you'll have the opportunity to see him set free and all his belongings returned to him."

Quentin turned to Link. "You're sure you'll be fine, lad?"

Link dropped back onto his cot and let out a yawn. "I haven't had much sleep in the past three hundred days. I'm sure I'll be fine. Look after Epona for me though?"

"Of course," Quentin said.

"Right this way," Amos gestured for Quentin to step through the doorway, leaving Link alone in his cell. With one more look at his friend, Quentin left the cell, then the Keep with Lord Amos Gryphon walking right beside him.

"We're in Southern Clock Town," Amos said. He walked with his arms held behind his back, head up, in long strides. Quentin wanted to ask him to slow down but he already owed the man for his freedom and his marvelously fitting cane. He wasn't going to ask the man to accommodate his pace too. "Mind the carpenters," he said as a shirtless man carrying a pile of timber haphazardly swung past Quentin.

Quentin narrowly avoided the careless worker. "Large construction project?" he asked, spotting three more equally shirtless and careless men moving piles of lumber and tools.

"There was," Amos said. "There was an attempt to build a platform for the Festival but with the moon falling all the workers abandoned the project. Most of city was abandoned, actually. But now that everyone is back, our illustrious mayor has commissioned the repairs of all public and private properties damaged by looters."

"Was the damage severe?" Quentin asked. He was looking around at what appeared to be Clock Town's market square. It was far smaller than Castle Town's but based on what he'd seen so far of the city, all of Clock Town could fit inside the Hyrule Citadel. There was indeed minor damage on some of the stalls Quentin saw but nothing that warranted the blusterous work with which the carpenters seemed engaged in.

"Not so much as it could have been," Amos answered. "But still, homes were ransacked, wares pilfered, and valuables stolen." He pointed ahead. "I've an apartment in the north-east part of town. Will your leg hold out until then?"

"It'll hold," Quentin confirmed quietly.

The two said nothing more until they reached Amos' apartment, a smaller home than Quentin would have expected from the man.

Quentin kept a careful eye on his surroundings as they made their way through Clock Town. When he'd still had a home and a country he'd spent his free time reading reports and news from other countries. He'd read more than a few stories and reports from Termina, and Clock Town was among the most noteworthy cities in the kingdom. He remembered from his reading that Clock Town served as a trading outpost between the humans of Termina and the neighboring Gorons, Zoras, Dekus, and Inkas. Unlike Hyrule, the king of Termina did not absorb the other races into his kingdom. Judging by the size of the walls Quentin saw when he first approached Clock Town, the outpost wasn't originally intended for trade, but war.

Despite the original intentions, to Quentin's untrained eye it seemed that peace and trade among the races was flourishing. Just outside the Keep he spotted Deku pods with the tell-tale signs of occupation. On their way through a long corridor Quentin and Amos had to stand to the side while a pair of Gorons ambled through the street, turning into one of the stores across the way. He didn't see any Zoras, and he wasn't sure what an Inka looked like but he was sure they were thriving elsewhere in the city.

Amos' apartment was on the second floor, overlooking a plaza surrounded by more apartments and a few office buildings. Quentin made a mental note that the Mayor's office was only a few buildings away from Amos'.

No doubt only the most influential people in the city live here, Quentin thought.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Amos said.

Quentin stepped through the threshold and experienced a sudden shock of familiarity. It looked just like his home. Books, tomes, scrolls, and loose parchment littered the floor, covered the furniture, and were piled all over the desks. There were two armchairs sitting next to a fireplace and a small table, laden with books, between them.

"Forgive the mess," Amos said. But even as he said it Quentin wondered at his tone. He didn't sound apologetic in the least. He sounded proud.

"Oh, it's fine," Quentin said stepping over a pile of books. He recognized several of the titles he could see; books on history, law, religion, and philosophy. He spotted very few works of fiction among the mess, a similarity to his own collection. "May I take a seat?"

Amos obliged Quentin's request by clearing some of the clutter from one of the chairs and indicating that his guest should take a seat. With an 'oof' of relief Quentin dropped into the gloriously comfortable chair and began massaging his knee. His pants were still crusted with horse blood but he figured if it bothered Amos the man would have said something.

"The kettle should be ready," Amos while disappearing in the other room. "Are you hungry?" he called.

"Famished!"

Amos returned with a tray of tea and biscuits. "Milk tea," he said when he set the tray on the table between them. "The only proper drink in Termina."

All too aware of his hunger Quentin practically lunged at the biscuits, popping three of them into his mouth at a time before frantically reaching for the tea to avoid choking. An amused look passed Amos' eyes while he silently brought his tea cup to his lips. Once Quentin regained his self-control he wiped at his face with his already dirty tunic then refilled his tea cup and settled back into his chair with a much more civilized demeanor.

"Well?" Quentin asked. "Are you going to keep me in suspense?"

Amos raised an eyebrow.

Quentin chuckled. "You don't honestly expect me to believe you're a self-less do-gooder, bailing me out of jail only because it was the right thing to do?"

Amos lowered his tea cup so it rested on his lap. "Obviously not because freeing you was NOT the right thing to do."

Quentin narrowed his eyes. "How do you mean?"

"You're a criminal," Amos replied evenly.

Quentin snorted. "Because I allegedly snuck into the city and helped a drug smuggler?"

"No," Amos said. "Because you're a murderer, Lord Quentin Massys."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Quentin Massys is back! Throughout all my writing, fanfiction and otherwise, I've never loved a character I created so much as the crippled Quentin Massys. I tried to move on and write something else but I kept finding myself thinking about Quentin, Link, Simon, and Spade and how their story might continue. So here it is, Book Two and the continuation of their story. I'll not change the summary of Tomorrow's Gallows so I don't spoil anything for first time readers BUT I hope this chapter has convinced you to give Eclipsed Execution a shot. Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

_I could kill him_ , Quentin thought.

His pulse spiked and adrenaline flooded his bloodstream

 _Lunge out of my seat, get my hands around his throat._

Quentin was careful to hold his teacup steady and his face blank.

 _There's a fire-poker to the right. It'd be sturdier than my cane. A point at the end._

"Hm?" Quentin asked as though he hadn't heard correctly.

 _Who am I kidding? He's not a fighter. He'll run the moment I attack. I won't be able to catch him._

While Quentin struggled to keep his face blank, Amos' remained effortlessly stoic.

 _No_ , Quentin decided. _He's too arrogant to run, and I've no stomach for murder_.

"Sorted it out, have you?" Amos asked patiently. "I must say I'm delighted you're not prone to panic. That would have made you rather boring."

 _Incredibly arrogant._

"If I am who you think I am," Quentin said slowly. "How are you so sure you're not in danger?"

Amos reached into the cushion of his seat while Quentin's eyes followed the movement anxiously. He was admittedly relieved when Amos revealed a bundle of rolled and folded parchment as opposed to a weapon. Amos caught the look and smirked while he unfolded the paper with one hand and balanced his tea with the other.

"I've followed your work for some time," Amos said. He turned the paper he'd unfolded so Quentin could see the dozens of lines of messy handwriting. Quentin couldn't read the words from so far but he recognized the rushed ink strokes and smudged lines. The writer was working in a hurry, unable to pause to correct errors or straighten lines or even monitor proper spacing between words. The writing got worse further down the page due to the writer's cramping hand.

"How did you get an original copy?" Quentin asked.

Pleased with himself Amos brought the page back and examined it while he spoke. "Court scribes aren't paid nearly enough, as you know. Neither are the record keepers. It's neither expensive nor difficult to convince one or the other to 'lose' a report, especially after duplicates have been made and filed." He turned the page back around for Quentin to see.

"Truthfully," he said, "I followed you even longer than I knew. Recognize the signature at the bottom?"

Quentin leaned forward and squinted in the firelight. At the bottom of the page he could just barely make out a dramatically swirled 'Q' and a slanted 'M'. Amos spotted the recognition in Quentin's eyes even before he spoke.

"The son of a Hyrulian noble," Amos said. "Serves in the Royal Court as a scribe, groomed for a spot on the King's Council, abandons the position to pursue the exciting life of a soldier."

Quentin sat back in his seat with a frown.

"The exciting life of a soldier proves too exciting and dangerous," Amos continued. "So, after a crippling injury you return to the court. You've still got a taste for fighting but the war is over so you choose a new enemy. As an atheist it only makes sense you'd choose the church. The common folk embrace you and you become Hyrule's first 'Champion of the Law'. Suddenly I see your name in the reports again, this time in the middle of them."

"My name is Simon Spade," Quentin said flatly. _That's not exactly right anyway,_ he added to himself.

Amos wasn't deterred. "I've heard that name before, Simon. And Spade." He set the report on the table and unfolded a second one, this one fresh and crisp, the paper not yet yellowed. "Archbishop Simon Islip," he read. "The name appears often enough in the reports." He set that one down and reached for another. "This name, however, only appears in one report. A boy named Spade, responsible for knocking a noble from his horse, would have been branded with hot iron were it not for his legal representation, Quentin Massys."

"Simon's a common name," Quentin countered. "And I'm sure more than a few peasants give their children the surname of nobles to bear as first names in hopes of winning favor."

Amos chuckled. "True. But how many men have a crippled left leg, an understanding of foreign law, a young friend who wears nothing but green who, I might add," Amos raised a finger. "Matches the description of a young man who assisted in the escape of two men during their execution, and who would feel the need to smuggle himself into the city?"

Quentin scratched his nose. Continuing to deny it would just be insulting his own intellect. Amos Gryphon had him dead to rights.

"You're well informed," Quentin said. "You're right, I am none other than Quentin Massys; Champion of the law, murderer at large, and disgraced noble." Amos set his papers down and sat back, cheerfully bringing his tea to his lips. "But my first question remains," Quentin continued. "If you are as well informed as you seem, then you know I was to be executed for murdering one of the most esteemed warriors in the world. How could you be sure I wouldn't attack you to keep my secret safe."

"You turned yourself in," Amos stated confidently. "Men who can kill without conscious don't turn themselves in."

Quentin set his empty teacup on the tray and crossed his arms in front of him. "Maybe I knew I'd get caught and figured my best odds were in the courtroom."

Amos shook his head. "I considered that but during your trial you had multiple opportunities to pin the whole thing on your partner, Simon Islip. He was more than willing to shoulder the entirety of the responsibility. Righteous to a fault, I suppose. But you didn't. You tried your damndest in court with your morality tying one hand behind your back. A man who can't turn on the man who used to be his opponent, isn't the sort of man who can murder an innocent." Amos furrowed his brow contemplatively. "Although, I'm sure you considered it. Once a soldier always a soldier. Self-preservation is instinctual, after all."

"I did," Quentin confessed. "But I'm far more cripple than I am soldier these days. Even if I'd tried, you'd escape."

The left side of Amos' mouth twitched. "I considered that as well."

 _His arrogance might be well deserved_ , Quentin thought. _He's certainly not an idiot._

"Are you in the habit of entertaining murderers then?" Quentin asked. _Why am I here?_

"I am," Amos said evenly. "But that's not why I've brought you here and decided to keep your secret."

Quentin raised an eyebrow.

Amos sighed. "Clock Town, and all of Termina really, is fretfully boring. I spend day after day desperately looking for ways to distract myself from the suicide inducing monotony."

"Wasn't the sky literally falling only a few days ago?" Quentin asked incredulously.

Amos waved him off. "Fear is only as stimulating as the consequence of danger. For someone who is suicidal, what is there to be afraid of?"

"You're serious?" Quentin asked.

Amos nodded while frowning. "I've no problem admitting it. In the grand scheme of things, a human life is less significant than a grain of sand. At least the grain of sand gets to survive longer than a century."

Quentin frowned. "The brevity of human life is no reason not to value your own."

"Is it not?" Amos asked. "Nothing we do matters. Nothing we create will last. And nothing we think really belongs to us. You're a fellow atheist. You know there's no heaven or eternity waiting for us. The philosopher Gabriel Michael Slavian had a quote: 'I am no more afraid of my death. . ."

". . . Than I was excited for my birth," Quentin finished the quote.

Amos smiled and asked, "You've read his works then?" Quentin nodded. "Another fellow atheist, Slavian believed that the only purpose of human life, beside the primal drive to continue our species, is to fulfill our sensation of empathy for our fellow species."

"In other words, we feel joy when we create joy in others," Quentin said.

"And any selfish action," Amos continued, "Lying, stealing, greed, etcetera, is derived from the flawed perception of being able to satisfy our own needs without the effort of extending ourselves beyond the 'self'." Amos interlocked his fingers and looked directly at Quentin's eyes.

Those pale green eyes reflected kindness in the Keep. Now, they exposed brilliance, sadness, and if Quentin wasn't mistaken, mischief.

"In my humble opinion, Slavian missed the mark," Amos said, studying Quentin's face while he spoke. "Our purpose isn't to fulfill our sensation of empathy, it's to fulfill our sensations."

"I'm not following," Quentin said.

"If we were really meant, as living creatures, to feel nothing but empathy, war and murder would have never materialized and never become a prolonged affair," Amos explained. "Since that obviously isn't the case, it stands to reason that our only purpose in life is fulfill our own desires, the desires that manifest as we age."

"To please ourselves however we may," Quentin said. "Instead of missing his mark, it seems you think Slavian was wrong entirely."

"He was right about one thing," Amos said. "We rely on others to fulfill ourselves."

Quentin scratched at the unruly hair growing around his face. "We need other people so we can take measure of ourselves?"

"Exactly!" Amos exclaimed with a clap of his hands. "Our species relies on competition, although that's a minimalistic description of it. Superiority is the ONLY fulfillment that satiates us. It's why wars are fought, religions created, social classes developed, monarchies crowned." Growing excited, Amos scooted toward the edge of his seat and held his hands up as though he were holding a ball.

"Most people settle in the delusion that they are the best at being themselves. That their very unique attributes might be competitive in nothing more than being the best version of themselves. Others don't settle for that though. They are determined to be the best at something. The fastest runner, the best fighter, the most entertaining playwright. The ones who fall short settle with the delusion they can be the best teacher or the best contributor to the one who will eventually become the best. Only the very few who stand above everyone else will ever truly feel fulfilled."

Amos sighed again. "But then comes the cruelty of our existence. That fulfillment can only last so long. We've only the lifespan to be the greatest for such a short time. Nothing we do can ever truly echo into eternity."

Quentin's thoughts were buzzing. He couldn't fathom such fatalistic thinking. He didn't profess to know the meaning of life or necessarily agree with the philosophies of Gabriel Michael Slavian, Socrates, or any other philosophers.

"And you're depressed," Quentin crept tentatively forward with his words. He had no real way of knowing the temperament of his host, the man who held him hostage with the knowledge of his identity. "Because you were the best at something but not anymore?"

Amos snorted. "Do I really exude such arrogance?"

Quentin shrugged. _Yes._

"No," Amos said. "I've no such delusions. I am not, and have never been, the best at anything. Not even being myself. I'm sure a better version of me will manifest somewhere in the future, or already has in the past."

"And that's why you're depressed? Because you can never achieve complete fulfillment?"

"Because I'm smart enough to know that such a thing can never be achieved," Amos said. "I'm enlightened enough to understand that the best I can hope for are reprieves of competitive success to stave off the impending doom of mediocrity and death."

Quentin opened his mouth to say something but closed it when he realized he didn't have anything to say. _I might kill myself if I was trapped in his head too._

"I'm to be your reprieve," Quentin said when it dawned on him.

Amos smiled. "And can you guess the competition I have in mind?"

Quentin shifted his gaze from the sharp pale eyes of Amos Gryphon to the dancing fire in the hearth. The man's ill, Quentin decided. He was risking criminal charges, spending goddesses know how much money, and would soon be wasting the time of dozens of people just to compete with Quentin in what he assumed would be a court trial.

He would have to play, he knew. Amos knew his secret. And he'll play fair, Quentin reasoned. If competition was his drive, he'd find little fulfillment in an unfair game. But what would the case be? It couldn't be a case unique to Clock Town or Termina. Amos would know that he had an unfair advantage. Quentin might have remembered enough about his Termina reports to swindle a simple guard, but dancing in front of an actual court required finesse. It required years of being hunched over dusty tomes reading case after case after case, not to mention knowing the milieu of the present realm.

"Let me see if I've got this right," Quentin said, still staring at the fireplace. Amos crossed one leg over the other, content to wait patiently and measure his guest. "You and I are to compete on opposite sides of the court, with my friend Link as the epicenter of the trial. You have the advantage of knowing the city, and I the advantage of knowing the accused."

"That's not all," Amos said with growing excitement. Quentin turned from the fire back to this host. "A simple case wouldn't possibly do," Amos continued. "Your client travels through time."

Quentin's eyes grew wide.

Amos chuckled and nodded his head. "Yes I know all about the young Link. 'Hero of Time' I think he was called during your most successful trial." He leaned forward. "Here's the game we're to play. Link is accused of bank fraud, assault with a deadly weapon, trespassing, extortion, disturbing the peace, slander, impersonation of a city official, plagiarism, and three accounts of murder."

Quentin tried to ask a question but Amos cut him off with a, "Bu bu buh, you'll have to get the details at the pretrial arraignment hearing. You've no doubt realized that I will have the home advantage."

Quentin crossed his arms over his chest again and sat back in his seat. "You will."

"But!" Amos said with a raised finger. "You will have the advantage of the client that's right."

Quentin furrowed his brow.

"I believe Link was telling the truth," Amos said with a mischievous grin. "Which puts us in a wonderfully delicious opposition. You, have to convince the jury of an unbelievable truth while I have to convince the jury of a lie."

"Then you've the advantage," Quentin pointed out. "Whichever case is more believable will win, regardless of the truth."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Quentin confirmed. "It's how I won General Ganondorf's case. The Princess was telling the truth but it was so unbelievable the judges had no choice but to side with the lie."

"And that's why you killed him," Amos said evenly. "Because you discovered that the believable lie was actually a lie."

Quentin clenched his jaw, reluctant to relive that moment. He silently nodded his head.

"Whatever convinced you of the truth was so powerful, so overwhelming that you, a moral man, decided to murder the general who saved your life and inspired you." Amos said it without an ounce of doubt. "I'm allowing you the ability to overwhelm the jury with the same sort of unbelievable truth while I fight with nothing in my hand but untruths."

Quentin chewed on the inside of his cheek. Theoretically, arguing the truth was always safer than arguing a lie. The truth, no matter how many ways you challenged it, tested it, prodded it, or threatened it, was always the truth. A lie could be revealed. Even the most clever lie had the weakness of never being as tangible or impenetrable as the truth. Theoretically.

If he'd been offered this case in Hyrule, his friendship and trust in Link aside, he would choose the believable lie. If his only intention was to win, that is.

"So, I'll argue for Link's freedom while you argue for his, what, incarceration?" Quentin asked.

Amos' pale green eyes shifted from Quentin's left eye to his right, searching for something. He said nothing for a moment, instead he continued to probe Quentin visually.

His eyes, Quentin realized, reminded him of Simon Islip's shark eyes. Except Amos' were on the opposite end of the spectrum. Amos' emotions were far more expressive than the disgraced Archbishop's. Far more deceptive too, Quentin wagered.

Amos abruptly rose to his feet. "Come with me," he said. "I've something to show you."

Somehow Quentin had momentarily forgotten the pain in his knee but the prospect of walking again caused it to ache suddenly. He wanted to decline but the look on Amos' face seemed urgent. He couldn't after all, demand he be allowed to stay in Amos' small apartment.

With a grunt of exertion Quentin rose to his feet, the polished black stone of his new cane cool against the palm of his hand.

They descended the stairs, exited the building, and stepped out into the plaza. It was darker than Quentin expected. They passed more time conversing than he'd thought.

"I took the liberty of reserving you a private suite at the Stock Pot Inn," Amos said. He was already moving, eliciting a hushed mutter from the cripple. "You'll need only give your name, Simon Spade, at the front desk."

"Thank you," Quentin said from behind.

"Don't mention it. If you've no money for clothes I can arrange something for you."

"I'll manage."

"This way," Amos said, stepping into a dark alley. Stairs were visible at the far end, descending into a darkness Quentin's eyes couldn't pierce. "There's light at the bottom. Mind your step."

Amos rushed forward into the darkness but Quentin was forced to slow down. The walls were so narrow he was able to reach out and support his weight with a hand on each wall but his progress was still slow due to the darkness. When he caught a whiff of the subterranean air, he had an idea of where he was headed, but no idea why.

Sure enough, after more stairs than Quentin would have liked, torchlight became visible. Amos was waiting patiently, a torch borrowed from the wall in his hand.

Quentin thought about apologizing but opted not to. It wasn't he who insisted they descend into a sewer in the first place. Besides the smell of human filth, Quentin also heard the roaring of rushing water. The current of the water in this part of the sewer was as fast as any river he'd ever seen. Maybe more so.

Amos led the two of them along a ledge, parallel to the rushing tide of human filth. "I want your best, Quentin Massys," he said over the noise of the water. "And it occurs to me that I won't get your best unless you know more about me."

The man came to a stop suddenly and turned to face the wall. He reached forward and pressed a brick with his gloved hand. At nothing more than the pressure of his fingers the brick silently slid deeper into the wall. A seam in the wall opened to Amos' right. "Wait here," he said before disappearing with the torch.

The torches near the staircase they'd climbed down offered a little bit of light but Quentin found himself enveloped by pale darkness. In the dim light everything looked varying shades of grey and black. The rushing water was black. The ledge he stood on was dark grey. The walls were grey. Even his skin was pale grey.

He tried to consider the different reasons a well-dressed noble would have a secret passage in the sewers but all the possibilities that came to mind were too farfetched. Quentin's patience and curiosity would be satiated soon, as the light of Amos' torch was visible again, accompanied by the sound of something dragging across the ground.

Amos stepped half through the secret opening before he came to a halt.

"Take four steps back," he commanded Quentin.

Without a good reason to object, Quentin complied and took the four steps back.

"During the panic caused by the moon falling," Amos said with a glance at the other half of his body still hidden in the passageway. "A gang of orphans turned looters started ransacking the abandoned houses of Clock Town. They call themselves 'The Bomber Kid Gang' and while they're normally harmless, one of them happened into my apartment and took a priceless book of mine. I recently found the book, and the boy who took it."

There was a noise coming from within the passage. Quentin leaned forward to peak in but Amos barked at him. "Stay where you are!"

Quentin froze and looked at the man. The kindness in his eyes was gone. So was the mischief and the sorrow. He couldn't place the emotion he saw, or even verify he saw any emotions at all.

"I could have let the boy go with a scolding. I've done so in the past. But I saw an opportunity to teach a more interesting lesson."

"And what lesson is that?" Quentin asked, unnerved by the man's face. Torchlight danced across the man's teeth as he smiled viciously. He stepped the rest of the way out of the passage and dragged something out in front of him.

No, not something, Quentin realized in horror. Someone.

A young boy, younger than Link, was gagged and bound and held upright by Amos' hand. There were large burlap sacks secured to the boy, hiding his clothes but showing his face. His eyes were red from crying and his cheeks were bruised and dirty. He had a blue bandanna tied around his head and a bloodstained white cloth tied around his mouth. He tried struggle but it was clear he couldn't offer much resistance.

"If you think I'll go easy on you and Link because I believe Link really is innocent, you're wrong," Amos said. The pitch of his voice that Quentin found almost comical earlier, now sent chills down his spine.

Quentin raised a hand and stepped forward. "I believe –"

"STOP! Or I push him in!"

Quentin froze.

"The bags will weigh him down," Amos said. "He'll sink to the bottom and drown while you're swept away by the current if you try to help him."

"I believe you," Quentin said frantically. "I believe you! You don't need to hurt the boy!"

Amos made a tsking noise and shook his head. "You fought your last trial with one hand tied behind your back. It's clear to me your own life isn't enough to stake on the game so I need you to understand yours is not the only one being wagered. If I win, I will see to it Link is executed."

"Ok," Quentin said. "Ok, I believe you. I won't pull any punches. I'll do whatever it takes to win. Just don't hurt the boy!"

Amos drummed his fingers on the boy's shoulder. The boy, no older than ten, flinched away and started crying.

"Besides," Quentin said thinking of a different approach. "If the boy sinks to the bottom, evidence of his murder will be right there, beneath the city, accessible to anyone. You're smarter than that."

"I am."

Before Quentin could move Amos shoved the child into the water. The boy could do little more than grunt in despair as he hit the surface of the water then sank below it.

"NO!"

Quentin dove to the edge of the stone walkway in a vain attempt to catch the boy.

He missed by the distance of three strides.

The boy's eyes pleaded for Quentin, pleaded for life, pleaded for the nightmare to be over, before disappearing beneath the black water.

Quentin clambered to his feet, rage exploding in his chest. Amos' wit was ready for him.

"If you kill me the Magistrate will get a letter in the mail revealing who you and Link really are!" Amos said quickly while backpedaling.

Quentin came to a halt. His fists were clenched and his teeth were grinding together.

Amos smiled. He knew he'd been heard. "That's right. Every day until Link's trial is over, different mailmen will be checking in with me to see if the letters in their possession are to be delivered or not. They all have instructions to deliver the letters to the Mayor and Magistrate if they can't find me within an hour of sunrise."

Quentin turned back to the water. It sped by, taunting him for his trepidation and daring him to dive in and drown. Even if he dove exactly where the boy went under, the current would carry him away.

"The body will still be down there," Quentin said through gritted teeth. He turned to the murderer. "I'm doomed when the guards find the body and you're arrested for murder."

"The bags were filled with salt."

"What?"

His smile was wide and arrogant and evil. "The bags were filled with salt! The salt will dissolve in the water in half an hour and the boy's body will float to the surface, only to be carried to the ocean. If I left any evidence on the body it will be washed away, assuming they ever find the corpse."

Quentin stared at the water.

 _He's a monster. He's a fucking monster!_

He was vaguely aware of Amos walking behind him then past him.

"The pretrial is in three days," Amos called from the stairs. "I suggest you use that time to familiarize yourself with Termina law and your client's testimony."

Quentin didn't answer. He couldn't answer. Hate and rage clogged his throat and burned his tongue. He heard footsteps climb the stairs before they were drowned out by the noise of the murderous water. Quentin was alone.

 _He's a monster,_ Quentin thought. _And I'm gonna kill him._

* * *

 **Author's Note: I didn't want to kill the kid but I needed to. If you can't tell already, this trial is going to be very different from Ganondorf's. I hope you stay tuned. Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

"Spade, is that you?"

The boy straightened upon hearing his name.

"Aye, it's me." He closed the book he was reading and stretched his arms high above his head. He noticed he was farther into his third candle than he'd thought.

Archbishop Rauru finished descending the stairs, cheeks flushed and forehead beaded with sweat from the effort.

"Sorry, Archbishop, did you call to me from the top?" Spade asked. As custom demanded, Spade rose from his seat in the presence of a superior.

Rauru waved the concerned boy off and chuckled at himself as he was catching his breath. "No worries, lad." He pointed at the thick leather bound book tucked under Spade's arm. "That's quite the dull read under your arm."

Spade pulled the book from his armpit and held it out in front of him. The title was etched in gold letters in the very center of the book. "It is," Spade admitted.

"But you've decided to persevere through it. Why?" Rauru asked. He waddled over beside the boy and lowered himself into the wooden chair beside Spade's. The wood creaked under the formerly retired Archbishop's weight.

Careful to keep his grin buried behind a mask of respect Spade sat down too. "Something Massys used to tell me," he said flipping the book open to a random page. "A man can only live more than one life if he reads. He can only know more than one man knows if he reads. And if he ever aspires to be more than one man, he reads." Spade made the words sound as though they'd been passed on by a loving teacher but the truth was Quentin yelled them at Spade when the boy complained about the arduous task of learning to read.

Rauru nodded. "For all his contempt and sacrilege, your master was a great man."

Spade stared at the random page he'd opened without reading the words. "He was," he said quietly.

Spade missed him terribly even though it was little more than a year since they'd parted. Despite himself, Spade kept hoping he'd hear the 'click' of Quentin's cane, come to retrieve him from the Temple of Time so the two could resume their work as 'Champion' and 'Squire' of the law. But some nights Spade shuddered at the thought of Quentin returning to behold, with no little disappointment, Spade's failure. Since Quentin's failed execution, the church regained its previously held authority over 'extraction of confession'. Between the death of Vice Regent Leopold, the dishonoring of the former Archbishop, the death of the King's most trusted general, and the shuffle of church hierarchy, King Harkinian decided to abandon the newfangled ideas associated with exercising Hadrian's Laws in a courtroom. If Quentin did magically appear in Hyrule, he'd be disgusted.

"What's bothering you, Spade?" Rauru asked. Spade continued to stare at the page. He liked Rauru but he'd never been great at expressing himself. Quentin used to tell him that if he was going to trip over his words he was better off holding his tongue.

"I spoke to Bishop Marrow," Rauru added when Spade didn't answer. "He said you seemed cross."

Spade put his hand on the book and turned in his seat so he was facing the Archbishop. "It just doesn't seem right to me," Spade said.

Rauru nodded knowingly. "You don't approve of the extractions."

"It looks the same as torture," Spade said with a frown.

"It's not something we normally expose the new monks to."

"I've seen it all before."

"That's why I told Bishop Marrow that you were allowed unfettered access to every part of the church," Rauru explained. "And the difference between extraction and torture is that the extraction is for the sinner's own good. And it ends when the sinner confesses."

"If they confess," Spade corrected. He was vaguely aware that nobody, not even the next highest ranking bishop, was allowed to speak to Archbishop Rauru this way. "If they are guilty, they confess. If they aren't guilty but they want the pain to stop, they confess. If they don't confess there's no real way of knowing if they were innocent or simply had a high tolerance for pain."

"Fortunately," Rauru said, tilting his head forward as a subtle warning for Spade to watch his tone, even in private. "The confession booth is not their final destination. Their souls travel through the Sacred Realm to Heaven where their eternal fate is decided."

Spade let out a frustrated sigh. "That's the part I'm having trouble with. I understand that their souls go to Heaven and the Goddesses judge them. I don't understand why the church takes it upon itself to sentence and punish people on Earth if their fate is going to be decided in the next life anyways."

Rauru reached forward and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It isn't blasphemy if you are asking with an honest heart. But take care not to let others hear you harbor such doubts and questions." When the boy nodded, Rauru began his explanation.

"The three Golden Goddesses contribute to the ultimate judgement concerning the soul of each person. One Goddess makes her judgement based on how you have treated others. One Goddess makes her judgement based on your faith. And one Goddess makes her judgement based on the balance of justice."

"Balance of justice?" Spade asked.

"If you are a righteous person in this life," Rauru explained. "and yet receive nothing but hardship; the third Goddess will see to it that your woes in this life are replaced by joys in the next. And vice-versa. If you are an evil person in this life and profit from your deeds, the third Goddess will ensure you experience enough damnation to account for your undeserved happiness."

Spade scratched his head. He'd never heard this part. Boys and girls in church were only taught that their souls went to Heaven, and if they were bad they were punished and if they were good they were rewarded. The bishops of the church were always tight-lipped about details of the ancient books and Spade couldn't yet read the old language, so there was no way he could have known. He wondered if Quentin knew as much.

"And that's why the church condones extraction," Spade said, thinking aloud. "If they're innocent and die, the third Goddess will reward them, and if they're guilty the church is lessening the punishment they'd receive in Heaven?"

Rauru smiled. "You might be sharper than Simon was at your age."

Spade was too busy thinking to hear the compliment. "But if that's the case, why not just torture everyone?" he asked. "I mean, if the third Goddess is going to counter whatever people receive in this life, why not dole out pain and misery so the judgement of the third Goddess is better for everyone?"

Rauru's smile flipped into a confused frown. "Because whoever doles out the 'pain and misery' will still be held responsible for their actions against others by the first Goddess."

"Are bishops held responsible for extracting confessions?"

"Of course not," Rauru replied as if the question were preposterous. "They don't take joy in their duties. They cause harm only out of love and concern for the sinner's eternal soul. Besides, the second Goddess judges people based on their belief and obedience to the three Goddesses. If the church went around scaring and hurting people, the common folk would lose faith and suffer the judgement of the second Goddess."

"But if you knew that you were improving everyone's chances with the third Goddess by hurting them, isn't that the same thing?" Spade asked trying in vain to curtail his questions. "And doesn't that mean being nice to people is actually worsening their chances with the third Goddess? Does the first Goddess judge you only on how you treat other people in this life, not taking into account what you've done to their eternal soul?"

"Spade!" Rauru didn't quite yell but it certainly pulled Spade from his thoughts and got his attention. "I understand you have many questions," Rauru said, returning to his typical calmness. "Everyone does. But you must understand that some of the answers to your questions await you in the ancient texts, and some questions have no answer at all. Often we're left with nothing but faith in the Goddesses."

Spade sighed. "I'm sorry, Archbishop."

Rauru smiled. "Your inquisitive nature comes from Lord Massys. But even in the face of his disbelief, the Goddesses used him to save the realm. I suspect they've more in store for him, whether he likes it or not." He stood up, prompting Spade to stand up too. "I think they have something special in store for you too, Brother Spade. You need only faith and patience and I believe the Goddesses will make you a champion in your own right." He rubbed the top of the boy's head then headed over for the stairs. "Let that be your last candle for the night. Bishop Marrow is starting to suspect some of his inventory is missing."

"Thank you, Archbishop," Spade called as Rauru disappeared.

"The problem with the church," Spade remembered Quentin saying once, "is that there ARE genuine believers among them. Most know it's a hoax, or are simply using the church to climb the ladder of social standing but some, like Archbishop Islip, are true zealots. All the charlatans have to do is hide in the shadows of the devout and reap the benefits of the deceived."

Spade had certainly seen, even met, the charlatans. But as far as true believers went, true practitioners of the faith, Archbishop Rauru was the only one.

Spade gave the book he'd been reading one last disapproving look. He forgot to mark his place, he realized. With a sigh he closed the book, blew out the candle, tucked the remainder of the stick into his pocket, then climbed the stairs out of the cellar. As he left the temple's library he thought about his former master. He wondered what Quentin Massys was up to with the boy in green. In his more envious moments, Spade hoped Link would cause his former master trouble. That way Quentin might appreciate his time with Spade even more. Maybe he would miss Spade so much he'd come back for him, Spade thought. But then again, maybe it was better if Quentin stayed away until Spade accomplished something worthy of the Champion of the Law.

Heretical questions and dissident doubts robbed Spade of his sleep that night. While the other monks and altar boys who shared his room dreamt holy dreams, Spade kept wondering at the benevolence of the Church. How violence could be justified as helping he didn't understand. But the other monks and bishops seemed to be able to engage in confession extracting almost casually. Were they smarter than him, he wondered? Quentin had often reminded him that he wasn't the sharpest boy his age. On top of that, he was the youngest monk currently in Hyrule. The other boys his age were still altar boys.

Just before the sun's rays crept over the horizon, Brother Aastra entered the dormitory chirping the same morning call Spade heard every day for the past year.

"Rise, brothers, and attend this blessed day the Goddesses have brought you."

Already awake, Spade was the first the throw back his flax blanket and set his feet on the worn wood floor.

"Today's verse comes from the book of Nayru," Aastra said as he walked past yawning and stretching monks. When he noticed someone refusing to stir he would reach down and give them a gentle shake. "Trust in the Goddesses with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge them, and they will make your many paths straight."

"Amen," some of the monks awake enough to be coherent said.

"Amen," chirped Spade's neighbor. "Good morning, Brother Spade."

With heavy eyelids Spade looked up at the cherubic face of the most animated altar boy Hyrule could conjure.

"Morning, Jean," Spade managed.

"Did you stay up all night reading again?" Jean asked. He was already out of bed and folding his blanket.

Spade stood up and looked at his own bed ruefully. How nice it would have been to be able to sleep.

"You're so lucky you already know how to read," Jean continued. "I've got the alphabet down but sometimes the letters don't make the right sounds when I try to read them. Once I learn I'll be able to memorize Bishop Marrow's lessons better. Then I'll earn my robe and I can be a monk like you and the others."

"Yea?" Spade asked only half-listening. It was easy to get away with not giving Jean his full attention because the excitable extrovert would undoubtedly repeat himself three or four more times throughout the day.

"I wish today's verse was from the book of Din," Jean said as he crisped the corners of his perfectly made bed. "I like the lessons about the armor of the Goddesses and the sword of justice."

"Thus I will punish the world for its evil and the wicked for their iniquity; I will also put an end to the arrogance of the proud and abase the haughtiness of the ruthless. For the Goddesses will execute judgement by the fire of their hands and by the sword on all flesh. And those slain by the Goddesses will be many," Spade recited from his reading last night. "Book of Din, chapter sixty-six, verse thirteen." Spade was genuinely surprised he'd remembered it so well.

He looked up from his poorly made bed to see Jean crinkle his face.

"That's err. . . not my favorite one specifically . . ."

"Good morning, Brother Spade," Aastra said approaching Spade's living area. He raised a disapproving eyebrow when he saw the young monk's haphazardly made bed.

Spade followed his eyes and shrugged when he saw the pitiful job he'd done. "Good morning, Brother Aastra."

"You will not be joining your brothers in their daily cleaning or meditation today," he said turning back to Spade. "Instead you will be collecting tithes in Brother Joab's place on the North-Western side of the Citadel."

Spade furrowed his brow. "The North-Western side? You mean Cock and –"

Aastra raised a hand to cut Spade off. "Please don't call it by that vulgar nickname," he said with tried patience. "But yes, that street."

"What happened to Brother Joab?"

Aastra glanced around to see how many other monks were listening. Aastra was the highest ranking monk in Hyrule and had chosen to maintain his status as deacon/monk rather than ascend to the status of priest. Thanks to Quentin, Spade knew this was a ruse of humility. By refusing promotion to priest, where Aastra would typically spend five years before the opportunity to become a bishop, he will only spend an additional two or three years as a monk before his "selfless service to the church" earns him a seat as a bishop."

"His health prevents him from attending his usual duties," Aastra answered carefully.

Were it any other part of Castletown, Spade would have assumed the monk had been robbed. But in that particular district, a disease taken from intimate contact with a prostitute was more likely.

"And you trust me in his stead?"

"No," Aastra said evenly. "Jean will accompany you. That way one might take strength before the other succumbs to temptation."

"I get to go with Brother Spade?" Jean asked excitedly from behind.

Aastra smiled at the boy while Spade groaned inwardly. "You do, Jean. Look at this as an opportunity to show the Goddesses your devotion."

"Oh thank you, Brother Aastra!" Jean practically squealed. "I promise we won't let you down."

Aastra nodded his head. "I know you won't, Jean." He cast a wary glance at Spade then stepped off.

Spade didn't miss the look. It was no secret many of the monks, priests and bishops thought he was unworthy of his appointment as a deacon. Most of the other monks spent years as altar boys or volunteers in the church, groomed from a life of righteousness or discipline, before they were allowed to study and live in the church. Still others remembered Spade from his time as Quentin's assistant. There was no love between the church and Quentin and even less now that he was a murderer.

"I've only ever collected tithe during a sermon," Jean said still excited by the opportunity. "I've never gotten to go outside and do it. Should we ask for an escort from the city guards? I know they provide them to the monks on request."

Spade turned to the altar boy who was only a few months younger than Spade himself. _This one too,_ Spade thought. _A true believer. A true zealot._

"No," Spade answered. "We're not bringing some guard just to bully some poor sap into paying tithe. We'll go alone."

Immediately Jean looked as though he was going to make some retort but he stopped himself and offered only a nod.

With a weary sigh Spade grabbed his monk robes and pulled them over his head. "Well come on then, Jean. I'll need you there to take strength before I succumb to temptation."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Every so often there will be a chapter about Spade so you can see what is happening in Hyrule while Link was off on other adventures. You can expect to see Zelda and others characters too. Thanks for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

"After your performance in Hyrule, I thought this process would be a little more exciting," Link said after a drawn-out yawn.

Quentin ignored the boy and searched for a paragraph he'd glanced at earlier. He planted his finger on the page in front of him while he scanned the other open books strewn across the table.

"Banking laws, banking laws, banking laws," he muttered to himself while he scanned. "Aha!" He read the paragraph that tried to elude him then scribbled notes in his ledger.

When Link yawned again, Quentin looked up in annoyance. "Would you rather the guards returned you to your cell?" he asked. Being allowed to use this empty chamber as a sort of library was an unexpected luxury, likely set up by Lord Gryphon. It was the only private place the two could speak, and the only other place Link was allowed to go besides his cell.

"I just didn't realize there was so much reading involved," Link said, giving the pile of books a rueful glance.

Quentin snorted. Spade complained of the same thing on multiple occasions.

"It's not all dancing in front of the Royal Court and being shaken by Goron Kings," Quentin said returning to his books. "More cases are won in preparation rather than execution." Instantly Quentin regretted using that word. An image of Link, swinging from the gallows, appeared in his head.

"It didn't seem like you needed much preparation during Ganondorf's trial," Link said, oblivious to Quentin's regret.

Quentin shook the thought from his head. "I was working with several distinct advantages that time," he said in a lecturer's voice. "The first, Ganondorf had not actually committed any of the crimes for which he was accused. Technically, you ARE guilty of everything for which you are accused. Second, there was no hard evidence to any of his misdeeds. Third, I knew the judges and already had an established reputation. Fourth, and most important, I was intimately familiar with Hyrule's laws, proceedings, and legal system. All of the research from previous cases could be carried over.

"Besides," Quentin added, "I DID research Gerudo Law and previous Gerudo cases when I learned Nabooru was to be a witness. Her testimony was the most damning but I was able to void it on a legal technicality." Quentin tapped the book in front of him. "I could only do that because of the reading and preparation I did."

Link frowned. "I don't like that the law provides loopholes for something like rape."

Quentin let out a sigh, more as a visual demonstration of the guilt he felt for wronging Nabooru than anything else. "I don't either," he confessed. "But laws allow for a great number of abominations. At the start of the Gerudo War, for example, a new law was passed stating it was legal for the Royal Bank to repossess property belonging to Gerudo-Hylians, on the grounds that they could be acting as spies for the invading armies.

"For the entirety of the 12th century, it was legal to demand sex as a means to settle a debt. If the one collecting the debt didn't want to have sex themselves, they could 'legally' force the debtor to prostitute themselves or go to prison.

"Before that, it was illegal to trade anything with the Kingdom of Absistus, for no other reason than their goods were so cheap it was putting Hylian merchants out of business. Before that, it was legal to lynch Zoras who wandered too far from Lake Hylia or the Zora Domain."

Link looked horrified while Quentin spoke, but Quentin kept his tone matter-of-fact. "What is law and what is right, are not to be confused," Quentin said.

"I guess it's naïve of me to think laws were made to protect good people from evil."

"That would require a concise definition of good and evil," Quentin said. "Let's look at your case, for example. Attacking Sakon, unprovoked, was evil. But, attacking him to save the old woman, was good. Attacking him before he even decided to rob the old woman, was evil. Attacking him because you knew he would eventually decide to rob the old woman, was good?"

"Shooting the explosives on his back and killing him, was evil," Link replied with a serious expression. "Letting him live, was good."

Quentin raised an eyebrow. "You killed him?"

Link nodded, eyes locked with Quentin's. "I did, once. He was getting away from me and I needed to stop him that time. I couldn't reach his hamstring with my sword, so I shot an arrow at the bag of explosives he was stealing. The explosion killed him and the shrapnel injured the old woman and a nearby guard. I didn't do it again after that."

Intrigued, Quentin jotted down some notes in his ledger. "Did you kill anyone else before the final three days?"

"No," Link stated. "Not in Clocktown, anyway."

Quentin looked up from his notes and studied the boy. Link had that same distant look in his eyes Quentin saw in fellow soldiers; men who'd witnessed combat.

"Well, we can't really use that in court," Quentin said, carefully pulling Link from his dark memories. "Saying 'I could have killed him but didn't' hasn't worked well for me in the past."

"But isn't that a distinction between good and evil?" Link asked. "The line between necessity and self-indulgence?"

"If I were your judge and jury, yes," Quentin answered. "Unfortunately, we have to contend with twelve opinions and an opposing party who will avidly argue 'no'."

"Do we know anything about the jury?"

Quentin reached down and scratched his left knee, appreciating how little pain there'd been lately. "No," he answered. "I'm to meet with Lord Gryphon tomorrow to decide who sits on the jury." He reached over and patted the spiraled scrapbook Link had put together during his cycle of the three days. "This will come in handy, I think."

Link tilted his head. "I thought you said earlier that nobody I interacted with would be allowed to sit on the jury." He pointed at the book. "That's full of people I interacted with."

Quentin shook his finger and smiled. "But you didn't interact with all of them in the final three days. Some of them, the Curiosity Shop owner, that Cucco guy Grog, and handfuls of others have entries but you never interacted with them in the only three days that everyone remembers. If I can get any of them onto the jury, it would be a significant advantage."

"It's a shame Anju and Kafei can't sit on the jury."

"I'll call them as witnesses. They've both asked after you, by the way."

Link nodded. "Anju brought some home-made cookies the other night."

Quentin made a gagging noise. "I'm amazed you're still alive."

The two chuckled for a moment before settling into a silence, made heavy by the impending trial. Quentin was truly amazed by Link's constitution. Maybe it was easy for the boy, he thought. Link had, after all, defeated aliens, bandits, ancient warriors, mechanical monsters, giant eels, giant fish, humongous insects, and even an evil god who was powerful enough to drop the moon. But to do all of that and still be imprisoned by the people he was trying to save, had to inflict damage to the boy's psyche.

"I'm tired," Link said, interrupting the silence. "I think I'll ask the guard to take me back to my cell."

Quentin nodded. The two had been cramped in that room since breakfast and it was nearing supper time. Quentin was allowed to bring food to their "legal chamber" but never to Link's cell. Anju and the red-headed girl got away with it but Quentin suspected that was due to their gender.

"I'll join you," Quentin said rising to his feet. "I'll grab supper then return to the books. A stretch would do me some good."

Link gave an approving nod then knocked on the only door to the room. A few moments later the door swung open and a guard appeared with shackles for Link. Submissively, Link allowed the guard to attach the cuffs then fell in step behind him. Quentin followed behind the two, turning to shut the door with his cane as they left.

The three of them walked through the Keep, Link's head bowed in either thought or embarrassment. When they reached Link's cell, the guard undid Link's cuffs and guided him in. Link thanked the guard and stepped in before waving goodbye to Quentin.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lord Simon Spade," he said.

"And you," Quentin replied to the boy.

* * *

 **Author's Notes - Wow, it has been a while since I've written anything. This is one of the shorter chapters AND it lacks substance BUT I needed to get back into writing. I probably started a dozen different drafts of different stories and couldn't motivate myself to finish any of them, so this is a sort of desperate attempt to jump-start myself.**

 **Fun fact: You actually CAN kill Sakon in Majora's Mask (at least the N64 and Emulator versions). If you shoot his bag with an arrow he dies instead of running off. His body disappears immediately after the lady talks to you, but then he doesn't appear later in the canyon. Kinda cool I guess.**


End file.
